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shaunamilfman · 4 months

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King of My Heart

Summary: "The story of your burgeoning relationship with Jackie Taylor told through a series of drunken encounters. College au."

A/N: drunk girlfailure jackie my beloved. its not described graphically but there are mentions of jackie throwing up a few times if that bothers you. based loosely on this ask.

August.

The first time you met Jackie Taylor she was on her knees on a dirty bathroom floor puking her guts out into the toilet. Normally you would have just minded your business, but you weren’t nearly drunk enough to ignore the accompanying sounds of her sobs. You stumble slightly into the room, squinting slightly as the bright fluorescent lights are so much brighter than anything else at the party. “Hey.” You say cautiously as you carefully drop to your knees next to her. You place a comforting hand on her back as you draw her hair behind her head and hold it out of the way.

Your nose wrinkles disgustedly at the whole experience, but you turn your head away from her as you gently rub her back. “Just get it out pretty girl, it’s gonna be okay.” You murmur comfortingly. You do your best to ignore the sounds of her retching lest you join her, but you can tell that she’s finally stopped sobbing so you decide talking must be working. You keep up the encouragement until you finally hear her flush it away. She leans back exhaustedly as she shifts off of her knees to sit back against the tub and buries her head in her hands. You awkwardly drop your hands off her, sitting just a little too close to her now that she’s stopped being sick.

She brings her hands back down from her face as she stares pathetically over at you. She smiles weakly in greeting as you take her in: her wild hair, bloodshot eyes, red nose, and her mascara running down her face in tracks. You smile back, not wanting to let her on to how much of a mess she looks like right now. You suspect she might still be on the verge of crying, but considering the way her sobs were rocking her entire body when you walked in you were willing to take it as a win. “Are you alright, pretty girl?” You ask genuinely. You start to regret the question as her lip starts quivering as her eyes tear up again.

Your eyes widen suddenly. Oh shit. You think. You barely have time to catch her as she launches herself into your arms on the bathroom floor. You awkwardly wrap your arms around her as you receive a lap full of crying girl. She buries her head in your shoulder, which you think is far too intimate for a stranger you met in the bathroom but you certainly weren't going to be the one to tell her that. You can vaguely hear her whimper out some words but she’s crying so hard you can’t really make heads or tails of them. You finally catch something about ‘drunk’ and ‘Shauna’.

“Who’s Shauna?” You ask while rubbing at her back, figuring she wanted to talk about it. She spills every last little detail between sobs into your shoulder. You can’t help but be strangely invested in the whole story. You did ask with the intention to comfort her but you found yourself drawn more and more into the drama of it all. You wondered what the fuck happened to make her lonely enough to spill all this information to the first stranger she found on the bathroom floor, but that was none of your business.

“What?” You ask, gasping in shock. She pulls back, eyes red and swollen as she nods seriously. She wipes at the tear tracks on her face as she finally manages to calm herself down.

“I know. I know.” She draws out dramatically.

“She really said all that shit after she slept with your boyfriend?” You asked in disbelief, shaking your head as she hums in acknowledgment. You really weren’t expecting to get such good gossip out of this venture, but this shit was better than reality TV. You reach up above you to pull a hand towel off of the bar and gently bat her hands away as you wipe her mascara off her face. She’s sitting fully in your lap at this point, which you're doing your best to ignore, and lets her eyes close as you take care of her face. When she opened her eyes again the expression on her face was unreadable but her big eyes seemed to stare straight into your soul.

You shift uncomfortably as you look away, which is harder than you’d think considering how close to you she’s sitting. As if she’s suddenly becoming aware that this isn’t a normal amount of intimacy to share with a stranger she mumbles a quick sorry, but interestingly enough makes no actual move to get out of your lap. What the fuck is wrong with this girl? You wonder idly but decide it would probably be easier to just go along with it at this point. She has this way of making her socially unacceptable actions seem perfectly normal as if you’d be the weird one if you questioned her about them.

You listen quietly as she talks your ear off about this and that, sitting back against the wall with your legs crossed as she sits sideways across your lap. She throws her arm over your shoulder as she talks, seemingly getting more comfortable the more you allow it. By the time she finally stands up and stumbles back to her dorm, you think you must know everything there is to know about soccer and the epic rise and fall of her friendship with this Shauna girl. You stand up slowly as she leaves, your legs going numb for how long she was sitting on top of them. You stumble back to your own apartment falling straight into bed, emotionally exhausted from the entire experience.

…

October.

“Y/N!” Jackie calls out happily. You can tell from the slightly glazed look in her eyes that she’s already had one drink too many. You weren’t entirely sure how she had learned your name but were admittedly pretty curious to know if she had gone out of her way to find out. Secretly you hoped she did. You’d run into her at a few more parties, not all of them as eventful as the first. You murmur a quick goodbye to the friends you came with as you walk over to see what she wants. Her face lights up when she sees you coming. Her chair is far too small for the both of you to sit comfortably, but you still acquiesce as she excitedly pats the seat next to her. You shift a little awkwardly at the way it pressed your thighs together, but she certainly doesn’t seem upset about it.

“Hey, gorgeous.” You greet a little awkwardly. You still didn’t know her name, but she always flushes with pleasure at the compliments so you’ve decided just to roll with it.

She pats you excitedly on the thigh as she starts talking, mouth immediately moving a mile a minute as she catches you up on everything that’s happened since the last time you ran into her. You find yourself strangely invested in her life and listen intently as she speaks. She seemed oddly lonely for such a bubbly girl, and you wondered why she was having so much trouble finding other people to talk to at these parties when she obviously could have made a lot of other friends if she tried.

“God, I know.” You interrupt. “I had a professor like that my first semester. The average was like 45% and somehow we were the problem.” Jackie nods enthusiastically in agreement as she speaks.

“He acts like he doesn’t have a one-star rating!” She groans, leaning her head against your shoulder. She pouts up at you, as if she’s the only person to have this problem ever. You raise your cup to your lips to hide your grin, but judging by the knowing look she sends you it didn’t work too well. She sighs dramatically in offense, shaking her head as if disappointed. Jackie catches sight of your empty cup, suddenly standing up and dragging you off to the kitchen with her.

“Jesus!” You exclaim as you stumble after her, a little dizzy from the sudden change in position. You were honestly surprised that she managed to pull you up like that: she was definitely a lot stronger than you gave her credit for. She rummages through a few glass bottles sitting on the table before she finally finds the one she wants. She grabs your cup from you as she starts pouring you a drink. “Oh,” You say in surprise. “Is that for me?”

Jackie rolls her eyes as if to say obviously, as she continues. “Then this one girl was like maybe the people who didn’t study are bringing the average down, as if I didn’t have to step over her passed out on the floor the night before the exam.” You laugh softly as you look up at Jackie with an overly fond grin. Your eyes lock as she returns an equally fond look, the two of you getting lost in each other in the middle of the kitchen. You nearly jump apart at a loud yell of glee coming from another room. Jackie’s hand flails slightly, knocking over the bottle she just sat down on the table. It falls over on your hand with a loud thud, making you hiss in pain as you draw it back towards your chest.

You groan as you flex your fingers painfully, but it fades quickly enough that you know it isn’t anything serious. Jackie bats your other hand away so she can examine it closely, poking at your fingers as if to determine any damage. “What the fuck is that going to do?” You ask wryly, the corners of your lips quirking up in amusement. She ignores you as she keeps messing with your hand, failing at what she obviously considers to be a subtle move as she laces your fingers together.

“I’ll have you know that poking at the wound is a tried and true method.” Jackie defends with a too-wide grin. “I was really worried about your fingers.” You shake with silent laughter, your face contorting weirdly as you try to choke it back. “What?” She asks in confusion, which finally sends you spiraling over the edge.

“I bet you were.” You say between peels of laughter, flexing your fingers in an obscene gesture. Jackie scoffs, a blush immediately covering her face, and gently shoves at your shoulder in reproach.

“See if I nurse you back to health again,” Jackie mutters with a pout, looking adorably embarrassed as she backs away from you.

“Wait! Wait, Doctor…” You trail off playfully, giving her an expectant look. She grins as she shakes her head.

“Guess you’ll just have to keep calling me pretty, Y/N.” She says smugly. You slowly grin at the realization: she’s been purposely keeping her name from you to make you compliment her. She waves her fingers playfully as she turns and disappears off into the party.

…

November

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, you were far more invested in your current conversation, but your interest immediately peaked at the mention of someone crying in the bathroom. It couldn’t be… No, You think. It definitely is. You sigh, abandoning your cup on the table as you walk off to find her. You follow the sound of sobs up to a familiar bathroom and sure enough there she is. She’s just crying this time, not throwing up, so you’re deciding to count it as progress. She looks up quickly as you open the door giving you a watery smile. She doesn’t seem all that surprised that you’re here, in fact, she seems like she was rather expecting it. You get the strange feeling that you are running late.

Jackie looks utterly pathetic sitting on the bathroom floor, holding her knees up to her chest with her arms wrapped tightly around them. Her bottom lip quivers as she blinks away tears and you're nearly overcome with the desire to hide her away from anyone who could ever hurt her. She has this strange way of inspiring extreme loyalty even in someone whom she hasn’t even graced with her name.

You sink to the ground next to her, opening your arms wide as she immediately scrambles into your lap. She buries her head in your shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around you as she shakes with sobs. You wrap your arm around her stomach and rub the other hand against her back, cradling her as you try to comfort her the best way you can. You’ve never been particularly good at comforting people, but you and Jackie work well in the sense that she doesn’t seem to expect you to be. She seems pretty content– as content as someone sobbing on a bathroom floor can be– with just having your attention as you murmur your best attempt at comforting words.

You’ve gotten three ‘let it out pretty girl’s, two ‘it’ll be okay gorgeous’s, and a ‘you need to breathe baby’ before Jackie finally manages to get herself together. Jackie sighs against your neck, wiping her eyes off on your shirt. You resist the urge to groan, knowing from experience how hard her mascara was to get out of your clothes. You shiver as Jackie’s cold hand brushes up against the back of your neck as she plays with the edge of your collar. You find it incredibly distracting as she rolls it between her fingers as she says, “You came.”

You shrug. “Heard there was someone crying in the bathroom.”

Jackie hums in acknowledgment as she looks down at the hand wrapped around her stomach. “You keep taking care of me.” She says quietly. “I didn’t think I’d ever have someone to take care of me like that again after…” She looks so incredibly sad, but at the same time, she stares at you with such a large amount of affection that it makes you squirm in discomfort.

“It’s not a bad gig,” You admit. “Out of all the girls that could have been crying all over me at a party I’m glad it’s you.” She smiles evenly throughout but you can see her eyes narrow slightly at the mention of other girls. You shift nervously underneath her and she whines quietly in protest as she tries to hold you still. You roll your eyes as you lean your head back against the wall, getting the sense that you're going to be here for a while.

“What brought you to the bathroom floor this time?” You ask.

Jackie sends you an amused grin as she asks, “Would you believe I dropped something?” You roll your eyes as you give her an expectant look. She sighs exaggeratedly, as if she hasn’t been impatiently waiting to talk your ear off about whatever’s upset her this entire time. If she’d had the ability to speak while she was crying that hard you're sure she would’ve already told you several times over.

You listen patiently as she speaks, reacting at all the appropriate points. You tilt your head in consideration as you think, feeling strangely proud at how high Jackie seems to hold your opinion as she watches you thoughtfully. “You miss this Shauna girl a lot, don’t you?” You state more than ask. Jackie nods slowly, as if a little embarrassed to admit it. You couldn’t say you approved much of the desire, but you knew Jackie needed to try to mend this relationship for her own sake. There’s only so many times you can find someone sobbing on the floor before it starts to get concerning.

“Do you think you can forgive her?” You ask. Jackie seems to consider this for a long time as she cozies up in your lap. The longer you sit here the more aware you become of just how warm her body feels against yours, regardless of how cold her hands seem to be, and you're more than content to bask in the feeling while Jackie thinks. You can feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes and it starts to lull you to sleep. You startle as she suddenly speaks, having almost forgotten what you were sitting around for.

“I just want her to say she’s sorry, that’s all.” Jackie’s eyes prickle with tears that you're quick to wipe away, placing an affectionate kiss against the side of her head in an effort to stifle her tears. You really don’t want to do this again tonight. Jackie’s eyes widen as she flushes, burying her head further in your shoulder. You aren’t quite sure what that’s about, but at least she stopped crying.

You sit on the bathroom floor with her sitting pretty in your lap for quite a while, moving on from Shauna as you talk about anything and everything she could think of. You really enjoy spending time with her even as strange as she seems, but you really wish you could start meeting more in other places. Your legs ache something terrible from sitting in that same spot for so long, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world as Jackie prances off happily a few hours later. You groan as you pull yourself to your feet, leaning heavily against the counter as you wait for the feeling to come back. Still, you managed to get at least one thing out of tonight.

“Jackie.” You say quietly, deciding you quite like the name. Finally getting it out of her was like prying teeth, but you think it really fits her.

…

New Year's Eve

The first time Jackie Taylor had run into you right as you were leaving class you had chalked it up to chance. The two of you had gotten lunch together, leaving you with the realization that she’s still that delightful mixture of strange and kind even when sober. The next four times that Jackie had run into you had left you more and more suspicious, but you didn’t seem to mind as much as you probably should. If you were ever unsure, the look of utter happiness on Jackie’s face when you had run into her outside of her own class would have changed your mind. She’d hung off your arm the entire afternoon, dragging you around to show you all her favorite spots on campus as if they were super niche and underground.

Despite these encounters, you were more than a little surprised when Jackie Taylor had plopped down in the seat across from you in the library– mostly because you weren't aware she knew where the libraries were, let alone what time you’d be there– but the surprise had quickly turned to fondness when she asked where you were going to be for New Years. A combination of Jackie not wanting to stay the whole break with her family and you living off campus has brought you here: leaning against the wall at a dingy frat house as you nurse your drink.

It wasn’t the best night you’ve ever had, admittedly already starting on a sour note as some guy hit you with a lame question of “What's a pretty thing like you doing here?” in what he obviously believed to be a charming voice before you’d even made your way into the door. You scowled at him but before you could answer Jackie popped up out of nowhere and placed a surprisingly firm hand on your arm as she dragged you far away from him. Jackie happily talked your ear off as she handed you a drink, even if she had kept glaring in his direction. You’d ended up away from the rest of the party, not being able to hear each other well over the music, which left you standing awkwardly by yourself without her.

Jackie had walked off to get another drink a few minutes ago, not that she needed it as drunk as she was already, and you were admittedly concerned with how long it was taking her. You were about to set off to find her when she excitedly wandered back in. “Y/N!” Jackie calls out in surprise when she sees you as if you weren’t exactly where she left you. “I’ve been looking for you!” She smiles so wide it splits her face as she finally finds you.

“You found me.” You say with a grin, unable to stop yourself in the face of her clear exuberance.

“Where’d you go?” She asks in a whiny voice. “I missed you.”

You laugh fondly. Where did I go? “I missed you too.” You say instead. Jackie gasps quietly, looking a little hesitant.

“You did?” She questions, eyes wide. You nod and Jackie looks at you for a moment like you put the stars in the sky. She clears her throat suddenly as she glances away before sending you what you're sure was meant to be a flirty smile. “Of course you did.” Jackie giggles, more self-confident than ever in her inebriation.

“So, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing here?” Jackie teases. You scoff as you gently push at her shoulder. Jackie looks far too proud of herself at the moment. Two could play at that game.

“Good thing you were there to save me, yeah?” You tease. Jackie flushes slightly at the comment.

“Save you?”

“Oh, yeah. A real knight in shining armor.” You confirm with a wry smile. You suspected Jackie was more jealous than anything, but you appreciated how fast she had gotten you out of there. Even if the idea of having her pay so much attention to you made you a little lightheaded. Jackie preens at the comparison, grinning smugly over at you.

Jackie reaches out to lean against the wall next to you, but clearly misjudges the distance as she crashes face-first into it with a loud thud. She reels back with a pained cry, nearly tripping backward in her haste only to be saved by your quick reflexes as you grab at her arm. She stumbles into you as she gets her feet back under her, one hand covering her nose. “Fudge!” She curses as she pulls her hand away and finds blood.

Fudge? You mouth in surprise. Whatever. You’ve got bigger problems. You quickly pull her by the hand to the kitchen as you go searching for paper towels. You gently hold them up to her face to soak up the blood as you hold her tightly against you in comfort. You can hear her jagged breathing as she tries not to cry, not wanting to risk further irritating her nose. You whisper soothing words in her ear as you try to calm her down.

Jackie's hands clench tightly around the fabric of your shirt, enjoying the proximity despite the reason behind it. She’s long since calmed down before you try to peel away from her. She whines pitifully but doesn’t make a move to stop you, her hand falling limply to her sides.

Jackie hisses as you pull the paper towel away from her face to inspect the damage. Jackie watches you closely as you carefully turn her face to look at her nose. “It doesn’t look that bad, Jackie,” You say as you pull your hand away. She looks upset at the loss, her bottom lip sticking out slightly in a pout. You consider her for a moment. “Does it still hurt?”

Jackie pauses in consideration before suddenly whining in pain, nodding insistently. You narrow your eyes, not quite believing it, but you return to fussing over her even as she seems to have a miraculous recovery. After she stops whining about it you take a wet paper towel to her face as you gently wipe the blood away. You're holding on to the side of her face as you turn it side to side as you clean her up. Jackie seems entirely focused on the contact, eyes nervously darting around as her face burns bright red.

You're just pulling the paper towel away from her face as you hear the countdown begin, nearly startling you away as the screaming starts. You’re about to join in the revelry when Jackie lunges forward and kisses you just as the new year begins. Jackie hisses in pain as her nose touches your face but doesn’t pull away for a second. You eagerly reciprocate the kiss despite your surprise at its origins, and have to resist the urge to push forward as she pulls away.

Jackie smiles nervously at you as she stumbles away. You try to call out for her but she throws a “Sorry, I’m more tired than I thought!” over her shoulder as she rushes out of the kitchen. You're left standing in the middle of the kitchen still holding the bloody paper towel as partygoers scream happily around you.

What the fuck was that?

…

Valentine’s Day.

You didn’t see Jackie for a couple of weeks after classes resumed due entirely to the way she’d turn tail and run every time she saw you so much as looking at her. She’d shown up outside your class one day as if nothing ever happened claiming a family emergency that she’d insist upon no matter how much you grilled her about it. You finally gave up on arguing when she caved and apologized for it, seeming oddly guilty given what she was claiming. You were admittedly very excited when she asked you to go out to a party with her for Valentine’s Day, only to be quickly disappointed when she followed it up with a “As friends, of course!” Whatever.

She’s gotten progressively drunker as the night goes on, practically hanging off of you as she giggles far too loudly at a joke that you didn’t think was nearly funny enough to warrant that kind of reaction. She’s gotten noticeably flirtier as the night goes on as if every drink she throws back is emboldening her more and more. Despite your concern with how much she’s drinking you find yourself endlessly charmed as she squeezes at your arm and gently makes fun of you, always giving you her full attention. You don’t think she’s looked away from you once in the last hour which would be concerning coming from anyone else but Jackie seems to make it work as always.

“You’re like… really pretty,” Jackie says suddenly, changing the topic as she blinks at you in what you're sure was meant to be a wink. You flush slightly but try to shake it off.

“I think you’re really pretty too, Jackie.” You reassure, smiling softly at her. Jackie groans as she shakes her head.

“No!” She whines, looking frustrated.

“No, you’re not pretty?” You question, tilting your head to the side in confusion.

“No, no. I’m pretty,” Jackie says almost immediately, making you laugh. “You’re just so…” She trails off, reaching her hands out to cup the side of your face. You inhale sharply as the motion brings your faces closer together.

“Jackie?” You question softly, remembering how she acted the last time she tried this.

“So pretty…” She murmurs again, “Made me nervous.”

“You’re… You’re not going to run off on me again?” You ask slowly. Jackie shakes her head exaggeratedly fast, looking like she immediately regrets it as she quickly backs up with a hand flying up to her mouth. You jump away from her, terrified of her throwing up on you, but you slowly relax as it seems to be a false alarm.

Jackie still looks a little nauseous but otherwise no worse for wear. You sigh. You should probably get Jackie home before the night ended in tears. You couldn’t for the life of you figure out why she’d drink so much if she knew she had such a low tolerance for it every time. “Let’s get you home gorgeous.” You say placatingly. Jackie sighs, blowing a stray piece of hair out of her face. She nods as she holds her hand out four you to hold.

You lead her by the hand out of the party, looking at her expectantly as you get to the street. She stares back at you in confusion, happily swinging your joined hands between you. “Where do you live?” You prompt her helpfully. Jackie shrugs. What?

“What’s your dorm?” You ask slowly. She shrugs again.

“Dunno,” Jackie says.

“You don’t know?” You ask with a touch of irritation. Jackie frowns as she makes a big show of thinking about it.

“I don’t remember.” She concludes finally. You look away in frustration, fingers coming up to pinch at the bridge of your nose as you try to calm down. You miss the knowing grin on her face as she quickly stifles it before you turn back.

“You don't remember where you live?” You ask in disbelief. She shakes her head hard enough that she starts to look dizzy, leaning heavily on you as she loses her balance and almost takes the both of you down. You eye her wearily, not sure what you're supposed to do with the drunk girl hanging off of you. Judging by your typical meeting site– holding her hair back as she throws up and sobs her life story to you– you suspect there isn't anyone you could put her off on even if you tried.

“Do you wanna sleep at mine?” You ask finally, deciding it would be better not to leave her there.

“Mm,” Jackie murmurs happily as she clings to you. You’re practically holding her up at this point as she doesn't seem to want to stand. She doesn't seem to want to do anything but climb all over you at this point.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes. Start screaming you're being kidnapped if you disagree." You say playfully, not even sure if she's awake enough to listen to you. You're practically carrying her down the sidewalk to your apartment at this point and you dread to think how it looks to passersby.

“Noooo.” She whines quietly in your ear, barely loud enough for you to hear it. “Please don't throw me in your dungeon.” You shudder at the hot breath directly against your ear. She doesn't seem to mind though, as she starts resting her head on your shoulder and breathes against your neck. You can admit to being slightly self-conscious as the gorgeous girl hanging off of you stares at your face from 6 inches away.

She's so strange, You think absentmindedly. You decide that you kind of like it anyway. You make a squeaking noise that you'd later deny as she presses a gentle kiss against your jaw. “Thank you for taking care of me.” She murmurs with a tired grin on her face. Her eyes are barely open as she stares up at you. Her hair is wild and unkempt and she smells suspiciously like vomit, but under the streetlights you think she's never looked prettier. You flush at the thought, looking away from Jackie as you drag her to your apartment.

You pull her into your bed the second you step into your room, deciding to forgo changing under these conditions. She immediately latches on to you the second you're within grabbing distance. She clings on to you like a child, whining petulantly when you try pulling away. After you stop fighting she starts positioning your limbs where she wants them, ending up with her curled back against your chest with one of your arms and a leg thrown over her.

You're in the strange position of holding someone against your own will: she holds on to your arm so tightly you're not sure you could get it back without hurting her. She's surprisingly strong for how tiny she is. There's a faint stinging where her fingers are wrapped around your arm, you think she might have drawn blood. You sigh quietly as you decide to just go limp. You've slept in worse places, after all. God was she fucking cold, though.

You're sitting against the edge of your bathtub with Jackie resting her head on your thigh as you gently massage her scalp with your fingertips. She’d immediately woken up hungover, rushing off to be sick as you were left comforting her over it again. Jackie pulls her head back with a groan, looking up at you from her position on the floor. She sits up to move between your spread legs, wrapping her arms tightly around your back as she buries her face into your stomach. She whines against you, prompting you to resume running your fingers through her hair.

Jackie murmurs a muffled “I’m sorry,” into your stomach, making you shudder at the feeling of her breath. You try to pull her away to look at her but she only digs in more, refusing to let herself be moved from the safety of your body.

“What are you sorry for?” You ask finally, giving up on looking at her.

“Ruined it again.”

You sigh, sliding a hand down to rub comforting circles against the side of her face with your thumb.

“You didn’t ruin it, Jackie.” She scoffs.

“Did too,” She insists.

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did no-” You trail off, shaking your head. “What are you, 12 years old?” Jackie giggles as she pulls away, smiling gently up at you from her knees. She looks serious all of a sudden, resting her hands against your knees as she sighs.

“I wanted you to be my valentine,” She admits, “I chickened out asking you.” You grin softly, looking incredibly pleased.

Jackie, upon noticing your reaction, grins back at you as she squeezes your knee affectionately. “Always more confident when I’m drunk,” She says wryly. “Got too drunk again though.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “You could ask again?” You offer.

“Do you want-” She starts.

“Yes,” You interrupt, making her laugh. “Maybe somewhere without alcohol, yeah?” You suggest playfully. Jackie’s face scrunches up as she nods in agreement.

“Never going to drink again,” She mutters, looking a little ill still. You don’t think she’ll hold out on that for too long, but you’ll enjoy making fun of her again when the time comes for it.

The two of you lock eyes for a long moment and Jackie slowly leans up. You shake your head insistently as you press your hand flat against her mouth. “Not until you brush your teeth, Romeo.” You mutter. Jackie whines in protest as she slumps back against her legs. Her eyes narrow as she licks at your hand making you squeak in surprise as you draw your hand back. She looks smug at the action, slowly rising to her feet as she starts to look through your drawers for a spare toothbrush.

At least she knows what she wants.

…

Two Years Later.

“Y/N!” Jackie complains, huffing in annoyance as she drags you stumbling out of the bar. You were more unsteady than you'd thought you'd be, probably owing to the last drink Jackie had warned you not to get.

Whoops.

“Whoops?” Jackie asks, rolling her eyes. As annoyed as she is she doesn't seem to be actually mad, maybe even a little amused at the situation. You grin widely, tugging her against your side as you throw your arm over her shoulder.

“Did I say that out loud?” You ask, just a touch too loudly. Jackie laughs softly, leaning against your side as she wraps her arm around your back to guide you home.

“I told you that you'd had enough.” She says wryly.

“It tasted good.” You defend weakly, pouting over at her. She hums in consideration, pausing for a moment before she swiftly kisses you. You eagerly begin to reciprocate but she quickly pulls away as she gives you a teasing grin. She slips out of your arm and she makes a big show of licking her lips before nodding decisively.

“It does taste good,” Jackie confirms as she pulls you by the hand down a side street and up to the gates of your apartment building. You groan in disappointment which just makes her laugh. Her smile lights up her face like it so often does, and you find yourself lost in her eyes. As much of a rush as Jackie has been to get you home she's more than willing to let you admire her, the corner of her lip quirking into a smirk the longer you stare.

You can't help the rush of excitement that comes over you as Jackie reaches over and tugs you forward by your belt loops. Her hand rests on your hip before it slowly slides into your pocket. Your pocket?

Jackie pulls away as she holds your keys up, waving them in front of your face before she turns and walks up the stairs. You wait at the bottom dumbfounded for a minute, rushing up the stairs and catching up just as she unlocks the doors. “Not fair.” You complain, holding the door open for her and locking it behind you.

“No.” Jackie agrees, setting her purse down on the counter. “Fun though.” She adds as she walks off to get changed.

You cry out happily as she finally walks back out of the bathroom, having already gotten changed and ready for bed. You hold your arms out for her to climb into, but she chooses to ignore them as she walks over and lays on the other side of the bed. You gasp in offense, rolling over to stare at her in disbelief. She feigns a sternness that she isn't actually able to enforce as she shakes her head. “Told you not to get that last drink.” She says, looking away from you in an effort to hide her smile.

“Jackie Taylor,” You say slowly, having to really think about your words. “Are you… punishing me?”

She shrugs. “Is it working?” She murmurs.

“On my birthday?”

“I had a surprise for you,” She complains. You snicker as you give her a knowing look.

“Was it you?” You ask wryly. She scoffs, rolling over to face away from you with her arms crossed over her chest. You'd worry she was actually mad if you couldn't see the blush on the only visible part of her face.

“Don't be like that, gorgeous,” You say, pulling gently against her shoulder. She lets you pull her on her back, still refusing to look at you. She huffs loudly, just in case you'd forgotten she was annoyed. “Give me my present in the morning, yeah? I'm sorry I got too drunk for it,” You say placatingly.

Jackie uncrosses her arms, letting them fall limply to her sides. Still, she makes no move to get any closer. “Come to bed?” You whine, tugging gently against her arm.

“I'm in bed, ” She teases, giving you a smug look.

You smirk slightly as you playfully lean up to press a wet open-mouthed kiss against Jackie’s jaw, falling back against the bed giggling when she exclaims in disgust and jerks her face away. She gives you what she obviously considers to be a warning look but does next to nothing to deter you as you shift up to your elbows, intent on planting another one. She makes a whiny noise in protest as she gently pushes your face away from her. She pouts over at you and you grin softly as you roll on your side to face her. You reach a hand out and squish her cheeks together, making her lips bulge out exaggeratedly. She slaps your hands away with a groan, giving you an exasperated look. “No.” She whispers, trying to be firm but still giggling as she points a stern finger at you.

Jackie cries out in shock as you gently bite at her finger, trapping it between your teeth. She watches in disbelief as she tries and fails to get her finger out. “Please?” She asks finally, giving up on fighting you. You release her immediately, grinning far too wide as you climb on top of her and hug her tightly. She makes an irritated noise as your weight presses her into the bed, but reaches up to massage your scalp with her fingertips as you yawn into her neck. You shift on top of her as you find a comfortable position, more than happy to let her gentle motions soothe you to sleep.

…

5 Years Later.

You ignored the banging on the door to your hotel room at first, figuring some drunk couple had the wrong room, but the longer it went on unimpeded the more concerned you got. Finally, after the thought of Jackie being hurt crossed your mind, you shot up to go answer the door. Your eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Jackie, hand flying up to cover your eyes. “Jackie!” You cry out in shock, feeling an equal measure of shock and pleasure at her arrival. “Thought it was bad luck to see the bridge the night before the wedding.” You chide gently.

“You don’t believe in that,” Jackie accuses gently, a mixture of drunk and exuberant. You shrug, still holding your hand over your eyes.

“You do,” You say, entirely unsure why she’s here with you instead of at her bachelorette party. You’d had your party a few days before, choosing not to risk the hangover. Jackie, on the other hand, always loved to live on the edge. You smile fondly at the thought. Jackie makes a pleased noise, hands reaching up to tug your hand away from your face.

“Look at me,” Jackie pleads, smiling brightly at you. She pushes gently against your shoulders as she walks into the room, the door swinging swiftly shut behind her, walking you backward until the back of your knees hit the bed. You fall backward in surprise, taking a giggling Jackie with you as she falls on top. You grunt at the sudden weight, but that does nothing to stop Jackie from moving up to her knees to straddle you, grinning smugly down at you.

You can tell from the glassy look in her eyes that she had a few too many tonight, making you roll your eyes. She pouts at the reaction, hands coming down to cup the sides of your face. You shiver slightly at the coldness of her ring against your face, but you enjoy the reminder of her place in your life. Your fiance, and tomorrow your wife. You can’t help the way your smile lights up your face as you stare up at her, the love of your life who broke her own silly superstitions because she missed you.

You rest your hands against her hips, shifting her into a more comfortable position as you ask “What’re you doing here?”

“Don’t you want to see me?” Jackie whines, looking seriously put out. You laugh gently as you squeeze at her hip.

“You know that. Staying apart was your idea, gorgeous.”

“I’m drunk,” Jackie informs you.

“No. Say it isn’t so.” You say dramatically, feigning shock. Jackie nods seriously as if she truly believes it to be novel information.

“You always take care of me when I’m drunk,” Jackie confesses, a look of affection suddenly coming over her face. She leans down and presses a kiss against your hairline, lingering far longer than she needs to. “You’ll take care of me, won’t you?”

You choke up slightly as you say “Always Jackie. I promise.” Jackie frowns at the sight of your tears, quickly wiping them away. You clear your throat awkwardly, leaning up to kiss her as a form of distraction. Jackie grins happily when you pull away, but she’s still watching you a little closer than you’d like as you gently coax her to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Your wife always took care of you too, in her own little ways.

#jackie taylor x reader #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you

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partiallyderived · 9 months

Text

-ˋˏ life's too short to hold grudges (pgw)

genre: classmates to lovers au, fluff relationships: park gunwook x gn!reader warnings: n/a word count: 594 words author's note: i thought i would write something light. it isn't all that remarkable, but i still hope you enjoy it! disclaimer: i know none of these people personally, and i am not making any money off of this. title is from a quote in "anne of green gables". also, thank you to moni (@/taerrrrrae) for suggesting i write headcanons when i got writer's block. i appreciate you.

— honestly, the best way to explain your dynamic is to take the example of anne shirley and gilbert blythe from "anne of green gables", only with much less antagonism and outright disdain, because park gunwook is polite enough not to mock your hair colour, so you have no reason to crack the modern equivalent of a slate chalkboard over his head.

— the first time you see him, you think he's got to be a senior — except no, this guy is the top scorer in your class: debate club member, class monitor, teacher's everyone's favourite, park gunwook.

— and for no rational reason whatsoever, you declare war on him.

— it ends up only lasting for a month or so, until the next internal assessment, when you get a higher grade than him in physics, and he ends up messaging you at nine o'clock that night — very apologetically — wondering if you could maybe help him with some of the derivations.

— you tell him to come to school a little earlier the next day, and help him to understand the reasoning behind each step before class, and gunwook can honestly say — this is the moment his little crush on you begins.

— however, your teachers are ecstatic that he has more competition now, and because high schoolers love drama and inculcate it in everything they do, everyone becomes convinced that you two are friends not genuinely, but in some sort of psychological warfare way.

— like you're trying to take him down by sitting across from him at lunch and sending him the notes he misses from class when he's at debate competitions?

— and the thing is when gunwook tries to refute the allegations, everyone seems to think that a) he's being too nice b) he's being too naive and c) (courtesy of ricky, gyuvin and junhyeon from the class above) he should just ask you out.

— it's a little bit funny, how everyone seems convinced that you two hate each other behind your friendly facades, but also mildly concerning — because they're way too invested in something that has nothing to do with anyone but you two. so your genius solution is: spend more time together, in public.

— poor gunwook is about to combust.

— and it is on one of these days — at the library, after school, when you've taken his help to grab the reference books the librarians keep on the highest shelves — that he says, very quietly, "i think i like you."

— and you take it jokingly because what the actual heck who confesses in a library when it is pin drop silent and the librarians are watching and say, "i should hope so? otherwise it would make the past few months really awkward."

— "no, i mean — i like like you. in a romantic sort of way."

— and your very articulate response? "oh. well, uh, i like you too. i was going to ask you out on graduation day, or like, after the suneung."

— and then you both continue on as if nothing happened, because both of you are aware of your need to focus on school. although that's not to say there's any miscommunication — you are aware of his stance on dating now, as gunwook is aware of your stance on dating now, and the agreement both of you have is: you'll be together officially, just without the actual going out aspect.

— it doesn't change much of your daily dynamic, only that people quickly shut up when he walks into class with your books in one hand and your hand in the other.

— power couple. 10/10.

#zerobaseone #zb1 #park gunwook #park gunwook x reader #dor writes stuff #zb1 headcanons #zb1 imagines #zb1 x reader #zumblrfics

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chogiwow · 1 year

Text

saudade | lee know

pairing: lee know x gn! reader

genre: angst, fluff

au: exes to eventual lovers

wc: 22k+

warnings: language, anxiety, breakup, insecurities, miscommunication, slowburn, too much wallowing, just sad vibes and mc and minho longing for each other :’(

a/n: repost !

one.

The breakup was messy.

That was partially true, because you were the one who had mostly shed all the tears, but in actuality, the week long sobered up you had admitted to your delusional counterpart that this wasn’t to be a game of blame.

Minho had your best interests at heart, you heard him out and even sympathised with the logic, but at the end of the day your exposed vulnerability had set up its self defences in favour of the innate need to let your feelings to the forefront, because after all, you had worn your heart on your sleeve.

It was a mechanism that had built its wall with excruciating pain of lifting every block of brick the deeper you looked into what you had thought to be a relationship; the fonder your actions, the bigger the amount of effort you had to put into picking up that brick. Everything you had done or said ran through your muscles in painful pricks, a jab at every crevice of your being a reprimanding ramification.

You refused to talk to the man, ignoring his presence in a room and revelling in the forlorn glances thrown your way. You likened your pathetic state to his downturned mouth, intentionally swerving out of his way and going as far as to feign ignorance at the mention of his cats; you weren’t weak.

That was a sentiment you were entitled to convince yourself of, save for the conforms of your room where you could sulk and let the tendrils around your heart tighten in a chokehold.

However, there was a satisfaction of feigning your days into careless smiles and easing yourself into old routines, because it came with the bittersweet taste of regret oozing from the man causing you your miseries, coating him with the consequences of his undertakings. It lead you to believe that the pettiness on your part was only justified.

But slipping back to old habits was not easy. You still laid the table for two sometimes, still brought out two blankets for days you slept in front of the television and still stumbled upon cat toys laying around your house. It made you angry at the way Minho had seeped into your life and left parts of him still etched in your memory that prompted you to preserve those small nothings in every corner of your apartment. It was tiring having to recall small moments of genuine happiness, floundering about searching for it and holding on to it for a moment too long for you to self acclaim yourself as ‘moved on’ and ‘over it all’.

This wasn’t good. You were far too invested in this even now and had to let go of the past in whatever way possible.

So when you were looking for a job, you were desperate enough to grab one at a 24/7 convenience store, even though that meant you would probably end up with a graveyard shift on the weekends, which for you worked perfectly fine if it was to be accounted for distracting you from your thoughts.

Now, you were not so sure you had made the right decision.

It was one thing to work there on weekends for the extra pay, but it was another to drag your exhausted self there after a week of academic torture, only too aware of the pile of assignments waiting for you back home that you hadn't even spared a glance at in the entire week.

This was yet another life choice you were obligated to put in the bag labelled 'questionable and regretful' along with a million others, but you were adamant to admit it regardless of the concerned gazes of your friends; you smiled and waved it off saying you were doing quite alright.

Minho didn’t buy it.

Every single thing that had happened since the breakup had weighed him down like a soaking wet bag of cotton stuffed inside his clothes, and much to nobody’s surprise at all, he blamed himself for your haggard state.

That was saying a lot because he would show up to lectures in his sweatpants and a hoodie, not even bothering to sit upright and pay attention, choosing to bury his throbbing head in his arms for the entire lecture.

The aftermath of the situation was not something he had foreseen and just sometimes he regretted having to be honest all the time. He was torn between this urge to turn back time and never say a word about it and the desire to give in to the constant ache in his chest whenever he saw you, thought of you or dreamt of you.

Minho had never felt this way; never had this contradicting impulsion of either slinking into his seat till he melted into the plastic or the itching spring in his feet that wanted to run to you and beg you for another chance.

He did want another chance, but you had been so frustratingly clear in drawing the line, he had to hold himself back from reaching out to you. He took a step back when you were near but smiled at you though you took no notice of him; let you borrow the book he had been waiting to read for a week, even though he had carefully hidden it away from other eyes; made sure you were hydrating even though he had to put up with Jisung’s whining about how weird it was to go up to you and hand you a bottle of juice (he paid Jisung ten dollars just to shut him up).

He pretended not to be hurt when you left the book on the table without borrowing it, put up with the tight tug at his chest when you refused to accept the drink deeming the heaviness in his chest deserving.

Minho is content watching you smile from afar at someone else he doesn’t know, at something he can’t make out from the way your lips move. He closes his eyes and hopes to forget the image of you ingrained in his memory and the past that he had already ruined seeps it’s way through the cracks of your image like tendrils of a vine.

But Minho was keen and observant of people he cared about.

“Hey (y/n),”

Sighing deeply to yourself you put up a perfunctory smile.

“That’ll be 900 won.”

“How are you doing? Jisung said you left class early yesterday,” Minho says, genuinity weaving through his voice and face, innocent worried eyes peeking from under his bangs that lay across his eyes.

“Peachy keen, is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Are you sure? You look pale…”

“I’m fine, can you please pay now?”

“Have you eaten?”

“Will you pay already?”

Here’s the thing about pulling all nighters – it affects your ability to feign interest in conversations you would rather not be a part of and are especially thankful for customers on your shift who come in with clear intent of what they want and what they need, fortunately that only leaves you to deal with them quickly. So right now, you were on the edge of breaking and cracking your facade under the constant interrogation.

“I’m sorry, you just don’t look that well to me, and I’m worried about you.”

You are quick to resign yourself from feeling bad about Minho’s forlorn tone and large eyes that looked at you with sorrow; you felt like you had just told off a child for eating too many candies.

“Just…pay already,” you bite back the words waiting to tumble out of your lips any given second, then with a sigh add, “please.”

Minho fumbles around with his wallet, pulling out the bills and placing them on the counter, however, he doesn’t pick up the kimbap roll he had purchased.

“That’s for you,” he says, motioning towards the plastic covered roll with his chin as he tucked his wallet back into his pocket.

“What?”

“Don’t skip meals, it’s not healthy for you.”

You’ve obviously realised what was happening but before you could breathe out another word, you heard his hurried footsteps across the floor and the jingle of the bell above the door, leaving you leaning across the counter, your lips in the middle of protesting dismissal of his good will, but it’s already too late and you realise that with resentment as you watch the boy cross the street in a sprint and walk away, shoulders hunched and head bowed low.

Minho may be content with watching you from afar, but he can be just as adamant as you are, and one day he hopes to make it all up to you, but until then he struggles against your cracking image, fighting against the vines that shoot past, resolute on resisting the damage of his own actions.

two.

You studied the box you were holding, flipping it over a few times in your hands, hearing the distinct rattle of small, hard somethings inside. You thought you could smell sugar, too. The box looked and felt expensive – the texture of it, the delicate ribbon looped and tied round it, the exactness of its corners. You tried to think of where or whom it could have come from. After all, you weren’t expecting anything, let alone anything important or special.

But that was definitely your name scrawled across the top of the box in a surprisingly fancy script.

You don’t recognise the handwriting, the penmanship was too exquisite.

“Look at you, got yourself a little secret admirer huh?” Jisung’s taunt was loud enough to turn a few heads your way and you felt yourself growing uncomfortably hot at the snickers you received, quickly retracting the box inside your bag, stuffing it in unceremoniously.

Your eyes momentarily flickered to your left where you knew Minho was sitting a few seats away on the row above yours, but he was busy talking to the small group of people surrounding him. He either didn’t hear or if he did, he didn’t care enough. Or maybe he did care, but just ignored it.

Not that you cared whether he noticed or not.

Turning towards the over excited boy beside you, you let out a heavy sigh at the smug grin on his face.

“I saw that,” his saccharine smile makes you flinch inwardly, the way he rested his elbow on the desk making you want to knock it off with a flick of your hand.

“Saw what?” you busy yourself taking out your supplies for the class, hoping that you wouldn’t have to be interrogated about the box inside your bag.

As it turns out, Jisung was not interested about the pandora’s box, well, in a way he was, but right now he was more interested in what he had just seen and that’s saying a lot because Jisung, contrary to his ridiculously short attention span in class and his usual aloofness to a lot of things, was a very observant person.

“I saw you looking at him,” there is a tantalising lilt to his words, one that makes you hover your hands around in the air as if caught red handed doing something bad, but you shake that feeling off with a well fed lie you’ve accustomed yourself to.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You only hear a hum of acknowledgement before being spared the further mortification of confrontation when the professor walks in. As the class settles down, mumbling a less than enthusiastic greeting at the professor, you slump over your desk, doing your best to have your face anywhere but in Jisung’s line of sight.

You don’t need to be in his peripheral vision, however, to lose your damn mind, because he happens to be very good at always having the last say of words.

“If it makes you feel better, he was looking at you too,” he whispers in your ear and though you don’t even dare acknowledge him, you can sense the smirk gracing his face, “perhaps loverboy there might have been a little jealous.”

You don’t say anything, but for the rest of your lecture you blatantly try to ignore the feeling of someone staring your back down.

Your innate ability to not even glance at Minho anymore was only at par with his ostentatious nonchalance at the same.

Before, you would always pass glances with him in classes, sticking your tongue out at him and then chortling silently when he just stared back at you with a deadbeat face, lips puckering out and the playful disdain in his head shake making you double over your desk, hiding away from your professor’s view.

Now your gaze remains stubborn on the presentation on the board, spinning your pen in one hand while resting your head on the palm of the other. He finds his eyes staring towards your bag, as if he could see the box you had stuffed inside if he stared hard enough, teeth biting onto his lips as he tapped his fingers on his desk nervously.

A nudge to his side jolts him from his state, narrowing his eyes at the culprit who was motioning in front with his head. If the implication was not enough, the telltale voice of the professor sounds out in good humour.

“Mr. Lee, if you would be so kind enough to pay your attention to my lecture rather than (y/n)’s back, I would appreciate it.”

A chorus of snickers and giggles breaks out, immediately shushed out by the professor who seemed to be enjoying the indulgence none the same.

You burned in your seat, sinking your head further down under the teasing eyes directed towards you, kicking Jisung under the table when he snickered loud enough to elicit a few more giggles and yet you never turned around to glare at the man causing you your miseries. God, only Minho would get caught in class for something like this!

Even if you did manage to cool down your face, tugging at the neck of your shirt and fanning yourself when the professor’s back was turned, your mind was churning with a trainwreck of thoughts, most of which was making you fumble around, unable to pay attention to anything except the loud buzzing in your ears. Consciously, you straighten your back and cross your legs under the table only to wiggle around in your seat when you realise there wasn’t enough leg space to do that. Your embarrassment increases tenfold.

Minho is not spared as the victim to his share of awkwardness as he all but clears his throat a little too loudly and every breath he takes sounds magnified now. It doesn't help that you stand out like a sore thumb in his eyes, fidgeting in your seat, obviously uncomfortable.

His chances of redemption were looking staggeringly low, any likelihood that you would not hate him more than you already did after he put you under public awkwardness was a shot in the dark.

When the class ended, you were the first one to dash out of the door, almost dropping the books you were trying to stuff inside your bag while sprinting across the floor. Safe to say, Minho didn’t chase you, saving his red faced apology for later.

three.

Minho was a good cook.

He knew exactly how much salt the marination required and the seasoned experience of how long he should let the broth simmer. What he didn’t know was how to bake, and he was in the very middle of doing exactly that; it would be safe to say that even though the general conundrums were proving to be back-breaking and the results were highly questionable, he hasn’t burnt anything down, yet.

An array of ingredients lie about, covering every inch of the workstation Felix had wiped clean only that morning, the powdered flour like snow on the slab and the salted chocolate mix sitting abandoned with an egg-covered whisk in it. Maybe Felix died a little inside but the state of his kitchen in shambles would have been slightly more concerning had it not been for the flour covered man sitting amidst the mess, eyes frantically skimming through a cookbook with splatters of batter speckled on it, hair sticking out like a madman caught in the middle of a very traumatic experience in a particularly intense episode of a Gordon Ramsey cook-off.

“Do I want to know?”

Felix started off timidly, torn between comforting his visibly distraught friend and suppressing an itching urge to reach out for the rag sitting so alluringly on his counter and wipe the whole thing down like it never happened in the first place.

Which were Minho’s sentiments exactly at this point, except he just wished he could start all over again.

He resigns with a sigh, slumping against the counter and abandoning his fifth batch of batter, the whisk clinking against the glass bowl, his heavy breath sifting the stray flour on the counter in the act.

“I used salt in the batter,” he says, hanging his head lower and lower as if it were a physical amalgamation of how he was losing one brain cell per second just standing there in the kitchen that smelt like chocolates and it was honestly making him sick.

“Fucking salt in place of sugar Lix, I don’t know what to do anymore…”

It only takes another heavy sigh on his end and his very much flour covered hands rubbing at his face for Felix to make his decision; Minho needed help, good lord he needed help.

“Hyung…” Felix was quick to move around the counter towards his elder, gently pulling him into a hug only to feel the telltale warmth of tears soaking through his shirt and grazing his shoulder. This was concerning.

“Hyung, talk to me, please.”

A part of Minho knows that this sudden exposure to an incorrigible vulnerability was scaring the younger boy, undoubtedly because he had never put his feelings on display like this, and that part was telling him to stop because if anything, he didn’t want to be an inconvenience, but this only made him sob harder.

Felix was inevitably taken aback at the sudden outburst, but he could not ignore the growing suspicion that this was more than frustration over failed baking endeavours. Minho did the best he could, but he would never break down completely over things he could not achieve, maybe pissed but never so despaired to shed tears over it.

“Why can’t I make some stupid fucking chocolates!” a sniffling intervention cut through, Minho’s sobs almost immediately ceasing as he rubbed at his eyes vigorously, a very alarmed Felix left to blink at the sudden change.

“Okay… a penny for your thoughts?”

Minho sniffs again, wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve and carding a hand through his hair before explaining.

“I’ve been trying,” Minho shoves the recipe book in front of his roommate’s face, “to make this for two hours now, and I keep fucking up.”

Felix creases his brow at the said recipe for salted caramel chocolates, eyes flickering in confusion between the man waving it in front of him and the newly ignited frustration in his eyes before venturing hesitantly.

“Hyung, you don’t even like this…”

Whatever it was about those six words seemed to have drenched out the fury in Minho’s eyes, for he blinked rapidly as if flickering between the numerous emotions he was suddenly exposed to, only to look away abashedly.

“It’s not for me,” his words, though mumbled out softly, seemed to have stuck themselves down his throat, a visibly forced will to have them tumble through his mouth and even then they lingered in the heavy air.

A sudden realisation dawns on Felix, but before he can think anything of it, he’s blurting it out in a loud voice, surprising to even his own ears.

“What the fuck hyung, are you serious?!”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, you’re digging your own grave is what you’re doing, glad we’re clear on that.”

Felix isn’t a particularly spiteful person, but his words come out implying such a sentiment against his better judgement. Nobody can blame him because he had a firsthand experience of the complete trainwreck that The Breakup was (it was mutually decided by your friend group to capitalise on the rather dreadful affair) to the point where he had felt like he had been at least one of the involved person on more than one occasion; he was clearly upset and trepid about Minho’s sudden endeavours.

“You’re making it sound so bad,” Minho could all but huff out, crossing his arms across his chest challengingly.

“What part of gifting your ex handmade chocolates on valentine’s day doesn’t sound like a bad idea?” Felix challenged slightly more intensely.

“I never said I was going to give it to (y/n)!”

“Oh yeah, so you’re telling me you haven’t been moping around for months around the house looking like a war widow mourning the death of your husband–”

“That’s an oddly descriptive–”

“– are you seriously telling me you’re not making (y/n)’s favorite chocolates right now?”

“Have I really been looking like a war widow?”

“Hyung!”

“Jesus Lix, I’m trying to make things right!”

“By giving your ex handmade chocolates?? On valentine’s day?!”

“What part of making things right did you not understand?”

“What part of the word ‘ex’ did you not understand?”

“Okay look,” Minho sighs, leaning back against the counter, “I know this is crazy but…I feel like – I feel so…I have to make things right.”

There was a finality to his words but held a lot more things unsaid in a way they couldn’t be put through mere syllables. Felix knew how hard Minho had taken it upon himself; you had almost entirely dissociated yourself for a week and when you were back, it had seemed like Minho was nothing but a figment of your imagination that had occurred and now you were up and awake from that fantasy as if reality itself had slapped you in the face, leaving behind a harsh mark imprinted on your cheek.

It was jarring, to say the least, and your mutual friend circle had been obligated to tiptoe around the two of you until you had entirely removed yourself to save them all the awkwardness. Though it was a relief to not have to hold his breath when he was stuck with you two in a room, he was not, and neither were any of your friends, happy about the way you were distancing yourself for their sake. He would be more than happy to have his friends back together, though exempting whatever sentiments you had towards Minho, but whatever this was, Felix had an inkling that it wasn’t Minho’s brightest ideas.

“You know why you guys broke up right?”

Felix’s baritone is like a huge boulder that resounds within Minho’s chest with a dull thud, weighing upon his conscience and his cautious tone tears it through moments later.

When Minho doesn’t answer, Felix ventures to say,

“Hyung, none of us were too happy when we found out, in fact Chan was mad at you and I’ve never seen him lose his cool like that. Are you positively sure that this is something you want to make amends for already?”

Some distant voice in Minho’s head was vigorously nodding along and cling on to every word Felix said; he would like to believe that it was because he was being logical, but in reality he was scared, and had it not been the strong scent of burnt chocolate he inhaled in the few seconds he let himself mull over his words, he probably would have seeked solace in the precautionary counsel and given up.

In hindsight, he would have grown to regret that decision as well had he actually gone through with it, but he realised that even if you ended up hating his guts and purposefully tried to mend a wound that he had no experience nor the know-how about, he would have deserved it all and so much more.

The familiar throbs of dull thuds start to creep up along his forehead, his eyes closing on their own accord as the numbness settles in. Minho was far away from his thoughts at such times, a momentary relief from all the churning and buzzing his mind was otherwise bare to, letting the pain slowly seep through his entire head till he was drowning in it.

“Will you help me?”

The request is barely mumbled, devoid of any intonation, but Felix knows that this was a call for help and there was no turning back for his roommate now.

“Fine,” he concedes, “but I don’t want my name being dragged into this, I’m only helping you because I don’t want you to wreck my kitchen.” This was Minho’s kitchen as much as it was his.

Minho only nods with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

four.

“Minho did what?!”

That’s it, Felix was signing up for new friends – preferably friends who did not potentially get him kicked out of the library for yelling.

He shushes Jisung with a violent wave of his hands, fingers pressing upon his lips as did so many other people sitting beside him, their glares of annoyance turned upon the duo who bowed in apology.

“That was Minho?” Jisung yells in a whisper, eyes wide open and books long abandoned in pursuit of what he had cited as “hot tea”. Felix wondered whether he had made a mistake after all, telling his friend about it.

“Yes, but you’re not supposed to tell anyone!”

“What? Why not?”

“Because ughh,” Felix stressed, lowering his tone and leaning across the table, “Minho doesn’t want (y/n) to know it’s him, that’s why the fancy printed note!”

As if the world had finally started making sense to him, Jisung’s mouth forms into an o, eyes widening further till his eyebrows disappear under his bangs.

“Hold on, I thought Minho wanted to apologise, then why would he be so secretive about this all?”

“That’s the thing, he says he’s sure (y/n) would shut him down if they knew it was him.”

“Wow, so what, he’s trying to make them fall for him again?”

Jisung chuckles at his own theory, the mere idea sounding ridiculous in his head but his smile fades slightly when Felix doesn’t answer.

“That’s the thing, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what he’s trying to do…”

Jisung can’t say anything, quite literally, he’s been rendered speechless by this bit of information. Although, the sappy part of him agrees that it was slightly romantic, sans the part where Felix was adamant on sticking to his ‘ex stalking their ex’ theory, but really, if you ignored all those pessimistic vibes, you would have yourself a sweet little reconciliation story.

“You know what,” he says after a while, his words slow and calculative “I don’t think (y/n) is completely over him either.”

Raising a brow in question, Felix urges him to go on.

“It’s just the way this entire thing played out, you know? I know for a fact that (y/n) believed him when he…uh…confessed, and I think they would have given him a chance. Minho hyung was so adamant too…”

The pair falls silent, staring vacantly at their books, both undoubtedly lost in a stream of their shared conscience that had been prodded when the subject in question had been brought up. Felix is the first to speak after having stared at the words on his page that blurred around the edges, seemingly floating on the white void.

“You think we should have stopped him?”

Jisung glances up briefly, their eyes meeting and a pang of regret hits him square in the chest.

“I think so. Do you think we should stop him now?”

Felix shakes his head in denial, “It’s already done and he’s too stubborn. I just hope none of them have to get hurt more than they already have.”

Jisung twiddles his thumb around his pen, tapping his foot under the table when he spots you making your way over, a bunch of books in your hands and the strap of your bag barely keeping up on your shoulder. You try to dump all your belongings as quietly as you can, but he can clearly hear your panting as if you had run all the way to the library.

“Hey guys, Hyunjin was trying to get me to volunteer for the Sweet Treats ughh, I don’t think I’ve ever run this fast in my life.”

You huff away a strand of loose hair that falls across your eye, slumping in your seat with a laborious breath and greet the two boys.

“Sweet Treats huh? Hwang is what, the running president for the third year in a row now?” Jisung scoffs, squeezing the nib of his pen absentmindedly on the table, leaving an ink stain in its wake.

You exchange a knowing glance with Felix; it was no secret that Jisung had harboured a major crush on Hyunjin since the first day they had met. There was nothing to hide about it, but Hyunjin himself was obliviously unaware of the blatant flirting and stuttering compliments. It was amusing to see Jisung lose his cool over his nonchalance, it was like watching someone be furious at someone because they were too cute – which was exactly what it was.

It was typical of Hyunjin to try and recruit volunteers for fests, especially during valentine’s week and being the president of the cultural club gave him the liberty of persuading students with free coffee and extra curricular credits, and he didn’t mind the flirting.

Jisung hated volunteering because he was always stuck with decorating the gym or carrying heavy boxes, but he could never say no to Hyunjin’s incessant whining and puppy eyes.

“How about you ask him out? Like you do when you like someone…like a normal person, rather than sulk over some guy’s pouty lips?” Felix sniggers, making you stifle a giggle.

“Oh shut up,” Jisung flushes, his ears turning redder by the second.

“Are you gonna volunteer this year?” you ask Jisung who was still trying to stop fiddling about in his seat.

“You know he can’t say no to Hyunjin,” Felix supplies from beside you, squawking when he receives a pen straight to his head, immediately apologising for the disturbance. You hide your head in your hands, trembling with laughter, catching vague whisper yellings of ‘shut up!’ and ‘what the fuck?!’.

If you thought you had escaped the clutches of Hyunjin’s request, you were mistaken and you should have known better because there was no way he would give up that easily and that is how you find the seat in front of you suddenly occupied and a very flushed and surprised Jisung sitting beside the boy, tightlipped and glaring at Felix who now looked constipated.

“Hyunjin…” you groan, smiling at him painfully. He returns the gesture with a smile that looked too victorious considering he hadn’t even made the proposal yet.

“I’m gonna ignore the fact that you ran away when you saw me if you agree to volunteer for Sweet Treats,” he starts, brushing his long hair back with his fingers; you had a very accurate suspicion behind his intentions, but one look at his smug grin made you bite back your words. Instead, you shrug.

“I don’t care Hyunjin, but I don’t think I can spend weeks cutting out heart shaped streamers and filling heart shaped balloons with heart shaped confettis and leave heart shaped invitations all around the campus,” at this point you wanted to barf at the sheer amount of times you had said the words ‘heart’ aloud, cringing at the very thought of al those things you just stated.

“Come on (y/n),” Hyunjin whines like the child he is, leaning forward and holding your hand in a vice-like grip before shaking you back and forth, “It’s free coffee and credits, you love both of those!”

“I like both,” Jisung coughs in the back, momentarily catching Hyunjin’s attention who engages with the boy. You think you’re saved and are about to thank Jisung who was already agreeing to everything Hyunjin had to say, nodding along indulgently, but alas, you are fated to have a heart-y valentine’s week after all.

“So (y/n), how about we make a deal–”

“Hyunjin, no–”

“No heart filled work for you if you help with the new booth this year,” Hyunjin wiggles his eyebrows at you alluringly, tempting you to urge him but you don’t, so he continues after a dramatic pause of breath, “we’re going to do a radio show!”

“A radio show? How does that even work?” Felix leans forward earnestly, his attention finally piqued.

“We’re rolling out a portal where people can send in their confessions anonymously, or not, a week before the 14th and all you have to do is read them out through the day of the festival. It would be like little announcements, very romantic.”

“You want me to read out confessions?”

“Yes, Seungmin’s gonna be there too!”

“We never did this before, so why now?”

“Well, we’re trying out new stuff and a lot of people seemed to have something of this sort from last year’s suggestion feedback, so we decided why not.”

You considered his proposition, crossing your arms across his chest with your eyes narrowed at him, trying to decipher what the catch was.

“I won’t have to make heart shaped decorations then?”

“Nope,”

“And you won’t have me fill up balloons with a shit ton of pink and red confetti either?”

“I give you my word, I won’t.” Hyunjin solemnly puts a hand on his chest and shakes his head.

“All I have to do is read out confessions?”

Hyunjin hums in agreement, adding, “You can divide them with Seungmin if there’s too many or you can figure it out yourself. 3racha also agreed to have the PA systems working and DJ.”

“Hold on,” Jisung intervenes swiftly, “I’m a part of 3racha, why was I not aware of this?”

“Oh no, you sir,” Hyunjin ruffles his hair with a smile, “are helping me out in the photography booth.”

Jisung can only splutter, you’re not sure whether it was because Hyunjin had just ruffled his hair or basically claimed a stake on him, but you had a feeling it was both.

“What’s it going to be (y/n), are you in?”

Reading out confessions…how bad could that possibly be? At the most you were either going to coo at the adorable love letters or cringe till your fingers were physically unable to unclench from a fist. But you supposed it was better than having to be covered in glitter and glue and craft paper.

“Alright, but you better keep your word Hwang,” you concede with some hesitance, unsure of how exactly you were supposed to feel about this.

Hyunin smiles at you gratefully and before leaving ropes in a chortling Felix who was having fun at the expense of Jisung being a flustered mess, into helping at the baking booth.

You sigh in defeat; maybe it would be better to not have any expectations at all.

five.

There was still more than a week before the anonymous confession portal was going to be put out, and even though you tried not to let the visible ‘lovesickness’ in the air get to you, it was proving to be difficult when you were yourself a frequent receiver of chocolate boxes and flowers and even drinks and muffins that were already paid for!

It certainly wasn’t helping that the notes were always printed and there was quite literally no trace of the sender, and that was what had brought you here right now, in this predicament.

“Who do you think it could be?” you ask, peering at the floral patterns on the ivory coloured box that had chocolates inside, hoping that if you stared hard enough, it would reveal it’s deepest and darkest secrets.

Felix shrugs nonchalantly, typing away furiously on his phone, barely paying any attention to the object of your interest that was slowly starting to give you a headache. It was one thing to have a secret admirer, but it was another to receive gifts from them that were uncannily to your taste and liking.

The first time, you had let it slide as a coincidence on finding out the chocolates were salted caramel flavoured – your favourite, but the second and third time were hard to pass as believable.

Even today, you found yourself being handed a warm cup of vanilla latte, just the way you liked it, the barista informing you with a knowing smile that it had already been paid for. You flushed when she giggled and winked at you, leaving you to hastily make your way to where Felix was waving at you from, scooting as far away as you could till you were basically pressed up against the wall, your head in hands as you groaned in embarrassment. Felix was having the time of his life, clicking pictures of you and the warm cup of coffee and the box of chocolates you had tossed on the table with a grunt, undoubtedly saving them for blackmail later on.

Now as you regard the box of chocolates in front of you, you force your mind to come to a blank because the only person you can think of is Minho, and it was driving you crazy. All your stupid little braincells could do was chant in his name in tiny font, growing louder by the second, even though you wouldn’t associate him with something like this – giving presents for the entirety of valentine’s was just not his thing, he would rather you both skipped the crowded cafes with lovesick couples. This was so not him, and yet…yet! Your stupid little mind could do nothing but think of him!

“Maybe they’ll confess on valentine’s day?” Felix, finally putting his phone aside, supplies helpfully.

“I would rather they didn’t,” you scowl, nonetheless opening the box and eating one of the chocolates. They were good, damn it.

Cocking a brow at you in amusement, he reaches for one too, suppressing a moan at how good these were; damn, Minho was getting better at this.

“I just…I don’t think I want any part in any of this, especially now when…”

Felix doesn’t have to prod at you to know why you left your words hanging in the air, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly panicked at the prospect. If you were already showing resistance to the very notion of what could perhaps be a simple crush, how would you react if you found out it was Minho?

“Lix, they gave me blueberry muffins yesterday for breakfast, it’s as if they knew I didn’t have time for breakfast on Wednesdays and ordered me some! It’s honestly a bit creepy, how do they know so much about me or is this all a coincidence?”

Okay, maybe Minho was not the best at being subtle and he made a point to tell him that later.

“It’s a bit overwhelming, what if they think I’m leading them on? But the thing is, I don’t even know who it is, and for some reason I keep thinking that it’s Minho but–”

You stop in your words abruptly, turning your wide eyes towards Felix who had the small beginnings of a smug grin creeping up his lips.

“That’s not what I meant,” you hastily explain, scrambling up from your seat.

“I believe you,”

“Don’t sound so patronising!”

“What if it is Minho though?”

“It’s not him, I know him and he wouldn’t do something like this.”

You’re stubborn in your opinion, perhaps a bit more stronger off the front than you would be because of the previous slip up, but now that you say it out aloud, you realise how ridiculous it sounds for Minho to plant gifts in your locker and order you breakfast on Wednesdays. Or was it?

It was. It was, it was, it was!! Maybe if you said it enough times like a mantra, it would be true. Maybe it was true and you didn’t need to worry about it, but why would you worry all the same? You didn’t want it to be him; you wouldn’t be disappointed if it weren’t him.

The only adversity in this whole ordeal is that it’s got you thinking about him again.

Though you had managed to stay away from the endless possibilities of this mystery admirer, your mind kept drifting to one particular guy, his sharp nose and soft lips like a permanent engraving in your thoughts and the 15% special discount on products for valentine's week where you worked didn’t help console you.

Scanning an enormous box of pepero sticks, you force yourself to smile at the girl who had purchased it, still in high school with the slightest blush tinting her cheeks, no doubt thinking of the person she had bought it for.

“Would that be all?” you smile, handing her the packet.

She shakes her head, bowing thankfully before leaving the store.

It was getting late, your shift only an hour away from ending. The sky outside was softening it’s hue to a darker blue, the onset of spring preventing nightfall from setting in early. Glancing around the store, you figure you would restock the chocolates section, since it was running low after the immeasurable amount of purchases in the last hour itself.

Abandoning your post from the counter, you retrieve the stock in a basket from the pantry, moving along the aisles, careful not to knock down anything else. In the middle of reaching the last aisle where the shelf was, the front door opens, a fainter tinkling resounding to the back and you yell out a hasty “be right there!’ before dumping the box on the ground and heaving out a sigh of relief.

“Hi, sorry, how can I–”

Well wasn’t this a surprise.

“How can I help you?” there it was, the uncanny rigidity in your voice at the sight of Minho. Your eyes stray down, the white and black patterns on his pants painfully familiar, but it brings a smile to your lips.

As if aware of your observation, Minho shuffles timidly on his spot, internally banging his head on a wall in embarrassment. Why, of all days, did he have to saunter into the convenience store wearing the cat pyjamas you had gifted him on Christmas!

Moving on instinct, Minho joins you in the back of the store, rummaging around the instant ramen section and picking up a few bags of crisps while you restocked the chocolates, patiently waiting for you at the counter. You don’t make him wait too long, skipping across the basket and hurrying to check him out.

“Will that be all?” you ask, handing him his stuff and gulping when your fingers brush.

He nods before placing the roll of kimbap on the desk and sliding it across you. You sigh.

“Let me guess, this is for me?”

“Don’t skip–”

“–your meals, yes I know and I haven’t been skipping them; you don’t have to do this you know.”

Your words came out harsher than intended, although you had not been purposeful about it, but the brief flash of hurt in Minho’s eyes resounds through your chest with a loud gong, the bottomless pit in your stomach opening up and you feel yourself free falling in the darkness. When did you become this mean?

“Right, of course. I’m sorry if I came off too overburdening,” Minho starts in a soft voice, his eyes never leaving the spot on the counter, too vulnerable to meet yours as his fingers dig into the plastic in his hands, the crinkling sound of it barely of any comfort. You think you can hear yourself breaking his heart, and even though that was what you had intended since the beginning, seeing him hurt made you feel ashamed to have been the reason for it.

“That’s not what I meant…” it’s not even an apology, but it was a weak attempt at one.

Minho says nothing, smiling at you before turning away and leaving through the door.

The door shuts behind him, the bell tinkling briefly before the sound fades away and you’re left alone in the store with your thoughts, staring at the roll of kimbap and wondering whether this had been worth it.

six.

Minho finds himself bumping into you more often than not these days.

The added cheerfulness of the people around him buzzing about the valentine’s festivities, if he dared to call it that, rubbed him all the wrong ways as he felt his resolve grow smaller day by day when he saw you in the halls or the library or laughing along with someone.

Not much has changed; you still avoid him but you don't necessarily ignore his presence in a room. You falter in your steps, blinking away when you catch his eyes, but you don’t ignore his smile across the room, acknowledging it with an awkward nod of head. It’s weird, to have to tread cautiously, but it’s Minho – the extent of your apology would only go so far as long as you had one feet dipped in a civil apology that functioned as a way to carry the load of guilt and the other feet in the conscious reminder that this was Minho – your ex and someone you could not be comfortable around yet.

Minho didn’t try to offer you any more food on his occasional trips to the convenience store which seemed to have increased to one visit per day, but you didn’t chide him for leaving a bottle of flavoured milk or a chocolate bar behind.

You both were toeing around this invisible line that you convinced yourself to consider a huge barrier, which would have been easy to blur had it not been for the constant, painful reminders of all the couples around you walking hand in hand or kissing in the hallways. It’s like someone had suddenly injected a huge amount of pheromones in the air and everybody except you was drenched in it.

Moreover, you were additionally drenched in an immeasurable number of anonymous confessions, ranging from ridiculously cheesy pickup lines to a “my honeybun <3” and to much tsundere versions of a typical bad-boy vibe you couldn’t help but grimace at; at least they tried, so A for the efforts.

As the days passed by, you kept dreading having to read some of these aloud, unsure of whether you would be able to keep the grimace out of your voice and Seungmin seemed to share the sentiment. Although, a part of you did admit this to being romantic, you didn’t stop yourself from joining Seungmin when he threw dirty glances across the table at Hyunjin, who, the hopeless romantic that he was, seemed to be cooing at almost all the letters you had received.

“Stop giving me the stink eye, you’re just jealous you don’t have a date for valentine’s,” Hyunjin never held back on his smugness when teasing Seungmin, his urge fuelled by the disgust on the latter’s face.

“I don’t think I need any more of that in my life after going through this hell,” Seungmin points accusingly at his screen where he was scrolling through the inbox full of anonymous messages.

The three of you sat in the computer lab, going through all the mail you had received and checking to make sure they were all appropriate to be read out loud on the day of, a precaution Hyunjin had insisted upon and you had found common logic in, although nothing so far had been of that nature, except the over the top cheesiness that you had tortured yourself with through the two hours you had spent. At this point you would willingly bang your head on the wall in hopes of at least having a concussion and passing out.

You are given a respite from your miseries when the door to the room opens, Minho trailing in with his bag on his shoulder and looking straight in your direction. Some respite.

Hyunjin waves him over with a smile while you slump in your seat, listening in to their conversation but not taking part in it.

“Is that the anonymous mailbox?” Minho asks, suddenly leaning forward and peering at your screen. Startled by the sudden proximity, you wheel your chair away slightly, but his hand comes to rest at the back and now you’re trapped between his frame and the desk.

You steal a furtive glance at his face, the tip of his nose illuminated by the screen light and glowing, his eyes blinking slowly while Hyunjin rambles in the background. Averting your gaze, you find Seungmin already looking at you two, smugly leaning back in his chair and hiding a smile. You shoot him a glare.

Minho glances at you carefully, smiling at the way your eyes flicker between him and the computer before finally settling away from him. He doesn’t hear much of what Hyunjin says, painfully aware of the distance between you two and the invisible barrier you had put up that he had yet to cross over.

He was trying, really. He kept looking for a door he could knock at, a loose link or a crack in the bottom, but the more he searched the longer the wall extended, going on and on for as far as his eyes could make out. Minho was starting to convince himself that he had lost the chance he had once had, and that he would never find that door you had willingly left wide open for him.

The sudden realisation dampened his mood, the proximity getting harder to bear when he knew he could reach out and touch your face and tuck your hair and kiss you. How had he taken it all for granted back then? When he could have easily sneaked up behind you and hugged you tight, when he could have kissed you for days on end but he whined when you did, when he could have let himself be vulnerable to his feelings; time had run out for him, leaving him feeling empty and uncertain of what the future held and the moss and dirt covering the deep dark pit in his chest start to rumble and fall apart.

His bag weighs him down, the box of chocolates inside becoming heavier by the second and the churning pit in his stomach gurgling in anxiety and precariousness. He doesn’t hope to find a door now, but he does hope that the apology he leaves by the wall is gone the next time he comes. That you would consider, but he knows not to push his boundaries and he had anticipated as much that he would no longer have the free pass to a mistake he could kiss away or buy his way out with coffee.

And although it hurts, he does not regret the time he spends on it. It was always meant to be for you. He does not expect you to forgive him all at once. So he keeps looking. Until the choice is an actual decision to open the door or turn around and look for a path that will take him somewhere else.

In fact, making you chocolates and buying you breakfast did not guarantee that either, nor was he trying to weasel his way in that way, but it was a step he took because he was desperate to even prove to himself that he cared after all. Of course he cared, he can’t believe he thought otherwise.

Seemingly done examining whatever was on your screen, Minho retracts his face away but remains standing with his hand on your chair while conversing with Hyunjin. You catch the faint whiff of a sweet scent, a familiar trace of vanilla you vaguely remember having a faint recollection of, but you can’t quite place it in your memory.

Minho doesn’t stay long, only there in the first place to collect his printouts. His hand brushes against your hair gently when he leaves; you're still mulling over the sugary sweet scent, your fragmented mind unable to quite let go of it.

seven.

“Look, if you’re worried about Minho, he’s not going to be at home.” Felix assures you on the other end of the line.

“Doesn’t he only have afternoon classes today?” you counter.

The pause is enough to make your face flush, and you’re thankful the boy himself is not here to tease you about it.

“I’m going to pretend you don’t remember his schedule–”

“It was a habit, I don’t–”

“My point is, you won’t run into him so can you please, please, please do me this favour?”

You sigh and groan, slumping further down your bed if that were physically possible, your pyjama clad legs sprawled lazily across the mattress and your phone squished in between your cheek and the pillow. Felix was really making you get off your bed on your one day off of class just to run an errand that would ultimately have you go to campus. Damn him.

“It’s not him, I just don’t wanna get up,” you groaned, and it was true. You didn’t care if you bumped into Minho or not, you were far too relaxed in the comfort of your bed that even the thought of getting up exhausted you, “besides, ask Minho, he’s your roommate.”

“If only he picked up my calls! I bet you anything he’s fast asleep and can’t hear his phone ringing over his snores,”

“Minho snores?” you’re mildly curious at this new piece of information, but try not to show too much interest in it.

“Not the point ughh are you listening to me?! My prof’s gonna kill me if I don’t hand in my assignment today and it counts for twenty percent of my entire grades, I need your help!”

You were already out of bed the moment he had started his spiel once again, you knew he would just repeat what he had said all over so you put the phone on speaker and grumpily tugged on a pair of jeans, tossing the tom and jerry pyjamas with a hole in the bottom on your unmade bed and waddled to your sock drawer.

“–I promise I will buy you coffee the entire week, I swear I will but if I fail this assignment then I’m going to make sure it weighs on your conscience forever that you could have helped a friend in need but you didn’t and then he failed his class and had to repeat an entire year and probably went into depression because god forbid I was idiot signing up for advanced calculus and economics in the same semester but regardless, you failed me as a friend and–”

“Felix, if you don’t stop, I’m going to throw you down the stairs when I come over.”

“You’re coming over?!”

“Yes,” you sigh grumpily, out of your door by this time and hobbling on foot as you try to put your shoe on, balancing your phone between your cheek and shoulder.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Only when you need something from me,”

“Chivalry is not dead.”

“Shut up.”

Felix doesn’t live that far away from you. It’s a fifteen minute walk from your dorm to his, twenty five if you stop in the way to pet a cat or dog, and there’s always a cat or dog, which is a sort of harsh yet not quite, reminder of memories attached to the long walks made bearable with the presence of a certain someone, which is funny because you just realised that now all of that is put in a box labelled ‘memories’ and that is certainly weird given your unfamiliarity to the sentiment and any suspicions of the same back when they weren’t memories.

You resist the innumerable sighs just tingling at the back of your throat; it’s too early for this.

It’s only when you’ve entered Felix’s apartment with the spare key in the teapot plant that you realise what you’ve walked into – a kitchen that looks like it’s gone through the seven layers of hell with an array of baking equipment scattered all over the counter. The boy himself had an apron on with splatters of batter specking the fabric. He doesn’t notice you, and he's definitely not expecting you.

“Why did you call so many– (y/n)?!”

“Uhh…hi?”

You roam your eyes at his condition, taking in his bewildered face and failing to hide your own surprise at seeing him bake for the first time.

“Felix sent me to get his project…it’s in his room, so I’ll just…” with an awkward gait you try crossing the distance across the kitchen and Felix’s room, ignoring the way Minho was now cowering. You want to laugh because you’ve never caught him so off guard and this would be an otherwise hilarious situation had you not been shocked by the domesticity of seeing him with a whisk, the scent of chocolate wafting through the air like a warm hug.

The minute you’re out of sight, Minho scrambles to his room, digging around for a decent shirt to put on, grimacing and mentally slapping himself when he looks into the mirror and sights the batter stained clothes. Why were you always catching him in his worst state these days?!

The blue folder Felix had told you about was on his desk, laying amongst a pile of clutter that ranged from rolled up balls of napkins and coffee stained sheets of rough papers. Grimacing at the mess, you pull the file out from under the pile of trash but it manages to knock over the precariously balanced advanced calculus books on his desk which fall to the ground before you can manage to save them.

With a resigned sigh, you bend to pick them up, stacking them in a smaller stack this time when your phone lights up, the caller ID you had expected to pop up but nonetheless making you roll your eyes. You pick up reluctantly.

“Did you get it, are you there yet?” the panicked baritone from the other end is slightly drowned by the chattering in the background.

“I just got it, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” you reply, picking up the final book and making your way out of the room with brisk steps.

“Fifteen?!” Felix shrieks into your ear making you flinch, “my class starts in five minutes, you have to get there by then!”

“Just wait out in the hallway, surely your prof’s not gonna kill you for being ten minutes late.”

“No, probably not but I’ll have to do that walk of shame ten minutes into the class and sit in the front seat…can’t you just run?”

“Felix I’m not running,” you retort sternly.

“I can drive you,” the new voice makes you turn around, Minho standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, eyes expectantly boring into yours.

“Is that Minho hyung? Great, he can drive you, I’ll see you in five minutes!”

“No, Felix–”

The beeping sound indicates that he had already hung up and you are resigned to hesitantly lower your phone from your ear and regard Minho cautiously as if you were gauging his intentions.

“It won’t take long if I just drive and Felix will probably chew your head off if we keep him waiting for too long, so let’s go,” Minho is already running a hand through his hair which is still very dishevelled while snatching his car keys from.

Quite literally, you find yourself being ushered out and into his car that you had been so accustomed to a few months ago, seemingly having no say in the matter that had been decided upon by the two roommates. You’re still in denial of the whole nostalgic sentiments resurfacing when you’re so much so close to an old habit like now, finding yourself sitting in his car as he drives you to campus. It still smells like lemon fresheners and the seats are still covered in cat hair that sticks to your jeans. You can almost hear the reminiscents of the shared laughter and kisses that had accompanied the long night drives and the coffee stain on the back seat that had remained engraved on the fabric from nights ago.

And like so many other times, your hand itches to just reach out and smoothen his tousled hair and tuck the label of his shirt under the collar and pull him in for a chaste kiss. The scent of chocolate that lingers on his clothes is overpowering, the sweetness making your throat dry up and chest constrict.

It’s suffocating, to say the least, and while it certainly weighs your chest down and numbs your mind like it so often does when it comes to rifling through these shared memories of Minho, you’re vividly aware of the said man gripping his steering wheel a little too hard. Perhaps the opportunity of doing you a favour had clouded his judgement of exactly how nervous it made him to be around you too long.

The ride is uncharacteristically silent; you grip on to the folder now in your arms like a shield in front of your chest, there to protect you from whatever it was lurking in the silence to pounce at you at any given chance and Minho bit his lips till he could taste a faint metallic tang on his tongue, swallowing the saltiness of a confrontation he was always cautious of but never knew when to expect.

And if you spend the entire day surfing through the countless websites offering advice on how to be entirely over an ex, no one had to be any wiser of it.

eight.

It’s seven days to Valentine's day, which means seven days of absolute misery for Minho and when Minho is miserable, he coops himself up in the dance studio.

As the days go by, he’s feeling less and less convinced of himself, and he fears his resolve will ultimately be reduced to a wisp of smoke in thin air, dissolving into nothingness.

For starters, he’s finding it difficult to believe that of all the goddamned people on this planet, he’s waiting to confess to you on valentine’s day, a day he had always felt bitter about to some extent. But then he falls into this vicious cycle of losing his mind over the fact that he’s going to confess to you in the first place, eventually finding himself zoning out of his daily activities as he has another mental breakdown over how exactly he was supposed to do that. How does one confess after all?

He assumes it might have been easier had you both not have already broken up and you didn't hate him – here Felix strongly interjects, stating that you, in fact, didn’t hate him, but who was to know – and how silly this all was, but he loved you.

And as he slowly let this piece of information settle, it only stirred up a gust of agitated feelings like dust in a sunny patch. He noticed how his chest squeezed at your sight, like it was trying to force it all out of his ribs, how the slightest discrepancy between his fair judgement and his elevated heart rate were always inclining towards the latter.

There is not a single seed of doubt as to what he feels about you or for you, but somewhere sitting calmly in the pile of emotions he had collected over the months, was a misplaced sense of overwhelming agitation he couldn’t help but creep up like a parasite. Leaving you boxes of chocolates on your desk and ordering you coffee felt like an immature and childish redemptive gesture, which was only reduced to a cowering dog in front of a beast when that parasite wiggled around, reaching out with its arms to move and expand.

But he missed you and he kept telling himself that.

Neither of you had ever tread into that territory however, the one where words were exchanged with a meaningful implication, it was just there. A sense of belongingness and happiness when he was with you, but also the chain of guilt and confusion weighing him down till he could no longer take it and burst out.

The fight was huge, the confrontation had been a source of getting all the heaviness on his chest to slowly be lifted, till he realised that there are some things which are only clear when you say them out loud and even though sometimes they are better left unsaid, the hurting only lasts so long before relief settles in.

Minho thinks, had he not said anything back then, none of this would have been so messed up. If he had just kept quiet and slowly immersed himself in this new feeling, or better still talked it out without such blunt implications, time would have helped him; but then he would also have been partially lying to himself and to you.

There wasn’t another person, heck he didn’t even fall out of endearment, it just took him some time to come to the conclusion that his feelings had been there all along but when he opened his mouth, all he had implied was that he had not been in love with you, in fact, this might have all been a ruse in the first place – it was understandable that you believed he had no feelings for you in the first place.

A load of miscommunication and the insinuation of his words had hurt him, but probably not more than it affected you. You had put a whole year into this relationship, given it your all, liked him even before you started dating, all to be left high and dry with a ‘I need some time’. He sounded like an asshole even to himself.

He had put you on the front line of his own internal dilemma, used you as an excuse to come to terms with his feelings and taken you for granted. Put in a bit of fucking around and he would be no less than a fuckboy. In fact, he didn’t deem himself worthy of your attention nor respect anymore.

While his anxiety built up, it’s basis feeding off the numerous insecurities that drowned him in it’s waves, his detachment from you grew larger and larger like a seam slowly but surely tearing apart at the edges and when finally undone, the uncertainty of where you would be in the future, whether you would be together or not, whether what he was feeling and doing for you was enough or bordering on sufficient to keep this relationship afloat. The little seed of doubt and indecisiveness had already sprouted up and begun growing like a parasite and while he never entirely got rid of it, it was starting to stir again in the pits of his stomach now.

He was now set out to face the remains of his destruction, rebuilding what he had hammered down and wrecked.

“Hyung,” a voice calls out, making him look up from the ground where he sat panting after the exertion of his dancing and thoughts.

“What are you still doing here? We’ve got class in a few…” Felix makes his way over to the sweaty boy, handing him a towel from the bench and passing one of the plastic bottles always in stock for the students, uncapping the lid to ensure the elder drank it.

“Do you think I should stop?”

“Stop what?” The confusion in Felix’s voice was clear at the abruptness of the question.

A heavy sigh fell off Minho’s lips, eyes staring blankly ahead at the mirror where he gazed at himself tiredly.

“Trying to make things right, I mean. I feel like I keep messing up… I did last time, when I thought that I was doing the right thing but it ended up being, probably the worst decision I’ve made, and talking out didn’t help. I’m not sure it’ll help this time either.”

The defeated slump of Minho’s shoulders is accentuated by the light from the half open windows, the afternoon sunlight sliding down the curve of his back and falling in a pool around him like a beacon of light, jeering at his pathetic state. His miserable foreboding was not allowing him to break out of his little cocoon of insecurities and the ultimate fear of losing you and the universe seemed to be playing its part in dramatising it with its elements.

Minho is unsure of his own actions at this point, his intentions in a muled pool of whether he was trying to reduce his guilt and doing this for his own sake or whether he wanted this for more than selfish reasons.

“Do you love them hyung?”

The question is like a sharp arrow shooting past his face, the wind whittling and ruffling his hair like a shot of breath; it almost leaves Minho breathless but alleviated from the dull slump he was in.

Felix looked on expectantly, but Minho was at a loss for words, staring back back at him with eyes that seemed hopeful of an answer from the inquirer himself. It’s like waiting patiently for someone to answer their own question if you stay silent long enough, and Minho wouldn’t mind favouring an answer that was spoon fed to him in tiny little bite sized chunks, easy to digest but what was even more convenient was that he wouldn’t have to do anything himself except chew and swallow.

He only wished that it were that easy, except of course it wasn’t and no one could feed him an answer to that. He hated Felix, for asking him something so intimate and for the further turmoil it caused him but more so because he had asked him something that deep within he knew the answer to, but as it had been the root of all causes he had stirred up, he was afraid to voice out loud, and he knew that ultimately he would have to confront that thought.

“You know what I think hyung?” Felix maintains his level tone, choosing his words carefully but never pausing in his thoughts, quite obviously unsurprised at the lack of an answer, “I think you know what you are doing and what you should be doing and also the answer to my question. You’re just too afraid to face your feelings and you think letting the guilt eat you up would make (y/n) feel better; that it would make you feel better even if just marginally. What you don’t realise is how much this is hurting you both, to see each other moping around and so upset at the other’s state.”

Minho is surprised at the words coming out of the younger’s mouth, his unexpected third person perspective a source he had not expected he would have an insight to, but all the same finding it hard to believe that you would have any mutual feeling about the same.

“I think,” Felix pauses, regarding the ground and the patches of sunlight on it with great interest, “it's time you stopped hiding behind your excuses and talked to them.”

Felix leaves after his final words, oddly feeling like he had done something monumental, leaving a befuddled Minho sitting on the floor.

There was the subtle churning in his stomach again, like he had just been told to suck up his fear of heights and jump, except this time he was almost entirely certain he wouldn’t mind the drop.

nine.

Hyunjin and Jisung were being disgusting, but they looked cute all cuddled up on your couch with their eyes barely open, scrolling through the numerous confessions you had received in the span of three more days.

You hide a smile when Jisung nuzzles his head in Hyunjin’s chest, the latter whining at having to change his position, pulling the shorter boy closer so now they were practically lying on top of each other.

“This was a bad idea,” Hyunjin says, sighing as he carefully places the laptop on your coffee table, kicking his feet out and quite literally straddling Jisung in his arms. Jisung seemed to be too tired to protest or splutter nervously at the open show of affection, readily giving in to this soft moment, yet not meeting your eyes because he could feel your teasing smile all the way across the couch.

“I don’t know why we didn’t put a limit to this, it’s like all I’ve been doing is reading confessions and they all look the same! Why didn’t you stop me (y/n)?!”

“Hey, I thought this was your idea!” you retort, chucking a cushion at him that elicits a groan from the boy, “besides, you can’t deny people’s confessions, it’s not like they’re for you.”

Hyunjin looks up when you snicker at him, “Was that a challenge? You think I haven’t had people confess to me this year?”

“Have you?” Jisung’s attention is momentarily piqued; you manage to pass the chortle you couldn’t suppress as a cough.

Hyunjin manages to soothe the boy back on his chest, patting his hair and shushing him to rest his eyes after all the squinting at the bright screens. You could almost see the hearts oozing out of his eyes as he stared at the boy on his chest now softly snoring.

“You guys are gross by the way, all this pining is making my head hurt,” you state out, expecting Hyunjin to deny your accusation but it doesn’t come.

“I’m planning on confessing,” he simply says, his voice low and eyes droopy, fingers carding through Jisung’s hair who now looked like even a fire alarm couldn’t wake him up from his slumber.

Momentarily forgetting about your own statement, you sit up straight so suddenly, it almost makes you crick your neck, “Wait, what?”

How could Hyunjin be so calm about this all? No less, it looked like it wasn’t such a big deal to him, like he was simply validating what you said. It just felt like the most right thing to be done, as if all the clues and hints had been there all along.

“Don’t act so surprised, I’m not entirely oblivious you know? I’ve liked him for a while now, I thought you all knew?” He turns to you expectantly, but you can only gape at him in surprise.

“I mean, yeah but! What the actual fuck?!”

“Really impressed with your immaculate vocabulary, so precise, I love it~”

“Shut up, you know what I mean!”

“Actually I don’t, this was long due.”

“Wow,”

“Again with the impeccable stock of words~”

“Stop teasing me,” you whine, unable to contain the smile that was bursting out, genuinely happy for him. Your restrained squealing is what finally makes Hyunjin flush, hiding his face with one hand but his lips mirroring your smile.

“How do you plan on doing it? You’re gonna be pretty busy at the photography booth,” you questioned, abandoning your work and grabbing a cushion in your lap, leaning into conversation indulgently; you needed the break anyway.

Hyunjin doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze flickering between the laptop and the sleeping boy.

“No way…” the sudden implication of the entire thing hits you and you’re almost on the verge of yelling out loud, but stop yourself just in time, “did you do this entire confession thing so you could confess?!”

“No…”

“Bullshit, you sly bitch!”

“Hush, you’re gonna wake him up!”

“Aha, so you do admit it!”

“I said nothing,” Hyunjin is stubborn, but you can tell from the way his cheeks turn a dusty shade of pink and he squirms in his place, his resolve only barely being held by a thread had it not been for the Jisung who was still sound asleep, unaware of everything that was happening.

“That’s abusing your authority,” you tease, crossing your arms over your chest, but you were honestly dying to hold this as leverage over him.

“Is not! It was a legit suggestion and the planning committee all had a say in this matter!”

“Yeah, the planning committee that you head, therefore making you the final decision maker and of course you play it to your favour!”

Hyunjin groans, his will to fight you over this subdued when Jisung stirs in his sleep and he holds a breath in fear of having been heard but nope, the boy just mumbles something in his sleep and goes back to snoring.

“Hyunjin, you’re simping, stop looking at him with so much love,” you gag, your only aim in your life seemingly becoming an unstoppable drive to tease the living daylights out of your friend.

“What about you, I heard you’ve got yourself an admirer,” Hyunjin quickly defends his stance.

“Don’t change the subject, you can’t fight this.”

“What about Minho, does he know?”

Although Seungmin has been dubbed as the one who’s brutally confrontational. You think Hyunjin has an equal hold of that title in your group with his unwittingly innocent setups that make you fall in your own traps and the stupid victorious glint in his eyes after succeeding in doing so.

“Rude, you don’t have to rub my failed love life in my face, loverboy,” you pout, trying to hide the sudden pain that had spiked in your chest at the mention of the name that had recently been making turns in your head. The very image of the unexpected domesticity of Minho in the kitchen baking had strung your heart with a sharp twang of longingness.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Hyunjin sighs, repositioning himself on your couch as you’re the one left squirming in your seat now.

You know what Hyunjin means, but you would rather not talk about it. In fact, you definitely didn’t want to talk about anytime soon, when all you’ve been doing for the past few days is reading endless confessions and sappy love stories and imagining what it would have been like to be on the receiving end of one of these letters. You’ve tried, on many occasions, to discern the writing patterns and trying to figure out whether one of these could have been sent in by Minho, but of course that’s silly and he would never do something like that but you hope – you so desperately hope for something.

Hyunjin sees the look of turmoil plastered all over your face, your sad eyes and downturned lips.

“(y/n), can you say that you’re entirely over him?”

The words are quiet, but a dissonance in the near silence of the room that is broken by soft snores. You don’t trust yourself to look him in the eye and lie, because you find that you can’t tell him the truth either. The lie you’ve been feeding yourself for months now is like a fraying rope of twines coming undone the more you tug at it; Hyunjin had so easily managed to break your lie open with a few words, you wonder whether he was right after all; whether your heart had been into building this lie and keeping it intact after all.

Because it's hard to pretend not to notice Minho looking out for you and it’s much harder to ignore the burn in your chest when he smiles even though you’re mean to him. It’s kept you awake for nights, months after everything was over – months after you should have been over it all, to have forgotten and forgiven and moved on without ever looking back – but you always find yourself thinking about him; always looking back and finding his face in the crowd without searching for it, finding his little smile and tucking it carefully in a corner of your heart.

And when you’re alone, without his constant assuring presence, you lie to yourself and convince yourself that the stolen smile tickling that corner of your heart was never meant for you to keep in the first place. You lie a little more when you tell yourself that you don't care anymore.

Hyunjin is so skillfully there to bring your lies to the forefront just like how he was there to accompany you in your ice cream marathon, with a bag full of snacks and two whole boxes of tissue with a sufficient supply of some old and sappy rom-coms when you had first cried your heart out after the breakup. When you had bawled about not being good enough to be loved, but most utterly, entirely broken about it all being a lie.

So he knows what it is you’ve been feeling this entire time, maybe not calling you out on it, but definitely there to remind you that there were still so many chances of putting this right, because believe it or not, even your lies have been lying to you.

ten.

Three days to Valentine’s and you felt like the universe was playing it’s most cruel game with you, but it was also making sure that you were still in the game, no matter how weak willed or how close to the edge of giving up you were.

Keeping up with your part time job and the planning for the big valentine’s day celebration, which you had inevitably been more than engaged in given the need for extra hand, had you sitting beside Minho now, shoulders touching and peering at the poster design Hyunjin had changed his mind about in the last minute.

In fact, Hyunjin had changed his mind about a lot of things, which included making a new banner for the Sweet Treats and therefore having to come up with a new ensign for the posters, because he wanted it to complement each other. It was either you stuck having to cut out large hearts out of glittery foam for the new banner – which you had already been given word weeks ago you wouldn’t be required to, but when have men ever kept their word? – or it was brainstorming over the poster design.

And that’s how you found yourself sitting in the very corner of the computer lab, squeezed in between the wall and Minho, the only seat you had managed to grab because all the other computers were taken, working in a forced mental quietude with the rhythmic drone of the students in the background.

The obligatory drumming of your thoughts came as a result from half an hour ago, when Minho had been forced to scoot over to your side by a group of unruly seniors who were having a loud discussion about topics your brain could not comprehend. But that was okay, because it was nothing compared to the fact that Hyunjin had absolutely forgotten to mention the ‘someone’ who was going to help you out was Minho. But even that was fine, because quite frankly, your mind is too buzzed to process anything, let alone supply valuable help to the boy beside you, who was actually doing the work, while you sat there, hyperventilating about your shoulders touching.

You’ve not been in such close proximity with Minho in a while, and while it never made you nervous in a bad way when you were in a relationship, now it made your stomach flutter and take flight whenever he leaned in close to mutter something about the shade of burgundy and his breath fanned across your ear.

You feel a shiver run down your spine when he leaned forward again, this time squinting at the text before leaning back again with a frown on his face. You pressed your lips in a smile – typical Lee Minho at work; he would stare at the same thing for hours on end till he could figure out what made it look even marginally better than the original format. It was a small habit that had always been there that you hadn’t even noticed you had taken note of in the first place, only realising that it was one of the things you had always liked about him, without even realising it.

Minho had had this way of easing himself into your life, seeping his habits and lifestyle into yours so subtly and gradually, that you had never quite gotten over the shock of not waking up to it any longer. It was like a part of you had been wiped off entirely, a hand pulled out of a glove in the freezing cold. It never sat right with you and you never got used to it.

Minho steals a glance at you, finding you staring straight ahead with the look you had when you were lost in your thoughts. He’s unsure if it’s because you don’t find his incessant stubbornness to get the perfect shade of red correct or you just weren’t feeling well. Well, you did look tired, he knows you stayed up all night sorting out the anonymous confession box thing he had briefly heard about from Hyunjin, and he knew you had a shift later in the evening at the convenience store. Maybe he should just tell you to leave? But that would make it seem like he could do the entire work all by himself and didn’t value your opinions but that wasn’t the case; if anything he wanted to be able to ask you to rest your head on his shoulder and get some shut eye but! He couldn’t do that either! Curse his fate!

“Hey,” your voice breaks his agitation, “wanna go get some coffee?”

For a moment you think you’ve stunned Minho into temporary speech loss but then you replay the past five seconds in you remind and realise that you’ve just asked Minho for coffee, which you were starting to hope he would decline and you could just leave awkwardly after that–

“Sure, let’s go.”

Minho is past the stage of caring, all he knows is that you offered to get coffee with him first and he was in no position to turn you down.

Normally, a coffee run would excite you but today the five minute walk to the cafe you frequent is no less than a nervous stride of awkwardness. Your heels ache with all the pressure you put out in walking, you change the way you breath at least nine times, every time closer to a skittish cliff in the fear of being too loud. You’re really worried about breathing too loudly; now you’ve seen it all.

Minho is no better. His stupid hands keep bumping into yours and the occasional cyclist makes him scoot closer to you but he’s too timid to walk behind you or in front of you. God, what happened to when he could pull you along in a good humoured headlock and berate you for your fifth cup of the caffeinated drink in an hour; he knows it’s not your first cup of the day, he can smell it on you. And he hates it so much, the mere thought of feeling the taste on his lips when he would kiss you, now he’s really resorting to inhaling the coffee scent so familiar to you.

His hand itches to pull you back and away from this stupid walk and away from it all where you could both start over again, but he’s quick to extinguish that thought; overindulging in sweet fantasies only made him long for you more.

He lets out a breath of relief he hadn’t realised he was holding when the cafe comes into view and you both enter.

“Oh hi, it’s you. Do you want the blueberry muffins today–”

Minho’s frantic gesturing cuts the barista off, their eyes widening when they see you come up, apparently digging around your bag for your wallet and they shut up immediately. You don’t seem to have heard the near slip up though, too invested in shovelling through your bag.

Without thinking, Minho’s hand reaches up to yours, your head snapping up at him and the frown on your brows slipping away into a surprised look.

“Just order, I’ll pay.”

“You don’t have to, I just need to find my–”

“Please?” The gentle squeeze on your wrist and the soft eyes appealing to you makes it difficult to turn him down. You reluctantly agree, placing your orders and waiting to have them to go since neither of you wanted to spend too much time inside the cafe that was already adorned in red streamers, the yearly specials menu of drinks and pastries making you grimace at the chessiness with which the names had been chosen. Jesus, you’d be embarrassed to even read those out.

Minho doesn’t know how to start a conversation with you anymore, his fingers drumming nervously on the counter until your drinks are out and it was killing him to stand a few feet apart from you when all around he could see couples practically sitting on each other’s laps.

You’re both glad when you’re able to leave, Minho paying and turning a brilliant shade of red when the barista hands you a blueberry muffin wrapped in plastic with a bow on top of it, citing it to be ‘on the house’ and winking at you. He’s so busy pretending not to have anything to do with this little coincidence that he doesn’t notice you speaking. When your words register though, he wishes he hadn't heard you in the first place.

“So uhh,” you start off hesitantly, taking a small sip of your drink as Minho does the same, “I’ve got some of your stuff back in my apartment, you should come by and…take them back. Sometime, when you’re free…”

It physically pains you to speak those words out, your throat constricting and this time you make sure you’re not even trying to gauge Minho’s reaction. Had you actually looked his way, you would have noticed his clenched jaws and the flash of hurt in his eyes that he doesn’t try to mask.

“That’s what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“What?”

“The coffee, you just wanted to– you know what, never mind. I’ll drop by tomorrow to get my stuff.”

Though you had expected a reaction akin to this, the sudden coldness in his voice and his stony eyes made your heart drop. You felt guilty about bringing this up and maybe you could have tried a gentler approach, but all the same, you couldn’t put this off any longer either.

Without another word, Minho stalks off with the bitter taste of his drink infusing in his tongue like a harsh slap of reality, leaving you staring at his back forlornly as it grew smaller with every step he took.

eleven.

You opened the door in a loose sweater, the sleeves engulfing your hands in sweater paws and the resolve with which Minho had purposefully rang your doorbell with, was already starting to slip away.

Minho finds it near impossible to step inside your small apartment, knowing the walls around him would bring back too many memories he had tried hard to suppress all night the day before, screaming into his pillow in frustration when they had inadvertently bobbed back up like a cork in water, stubbornly reminding him of why he had to be here in the first place.

The first thing he notices on entering is the cardboard box on the coffee table; things only get harder from there.

He’s unsure of what to do with his hands, his head feels too big for his neck and he’s constantly tumbling down an endless spiral of emotions the longer he stares at the empty spaces in your house that once used to be filled up with his trinkets. The feeling refuses to subside when he rummages through the box, picking out articles that punch him square in the chest.

“I thought you liked this hoodie,” he picks up blue coloured fabric, careful not to crease the fold.

You shrugged in response, you only liked it because it smelt like his scent.

As he keeps going through everything inside the box, he’s visibly upset at how you haven’t spared even the smallest of things; his half empty bottle of citrus bodywash, an empty diary from last year he had bought for himself out of impulse, his favourite fountain pen that had rolled under the drawer and he had never bothered to retrieve, until he stumbles upon the small velvet box he couldn’t forget even if he wanted to.

“I got this for your birthday,” his voice rose unexpectedly on opening it and finding the silver chain intactly placed inside, obviously trying hard not to lose his mind and snap at you for the wrong reasons, but how could you return this?

“Yeah well, you also told me that you loved me right after, so it kind of lost all its meaning.” the defensive tone was not intentional, but it was exactly what it was supposed to be – a front up against Minho’s own offence.

“What must I do to make you believe that it was real?”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” you were ready to walk away the moment he brought up the topic, leaving him to sort things out but a tug on your wrist, harsher than intended, makes you stop in your tracks.

“I want to talk about this,” Minho is comparatively calmer now, but his eyes are livid and not at you but himself. Yet, a part of him, though wary of the sense of deja vu he was having standing here in a similar predicament as when you had broken up, can’t seem to understand you at all. He acknowledges your anger and resentment, doesn’t try to question the way you avoid him at all costs but for the life of him, absolutely can’t understand why you wouldn’t talk.

“You never gave me a chance to explain anything (y/n), you just assumed the worst and refused to believe me even after I tried so hard to explain – to show you that I love you, yet it’s like you’ve built up this huge wall that you refuse to let down and for what? What are you so afraid of, is it confrontation? What is it? Tell me, because I sure as hell don’t understand why we can’t just talk about this?!”

“Oh so it’s my fault now?! This is how you truly feel, don’t you? All those stupid boxes of chocolates and paying for my coffee and those stupid fucking blueberry muffins – I don’t even like blueberry muffins, I only ate them because you liked them! – all that was just so you could feel better about yourself, wasn’t it? And now I’ve hurt your ego by returning what’s yours, so it’s my fault!”

Your voices were slowly rising with every syllable, the anger in your eyes directed at each other in furious glares and the confrontation that never truly happened finally tumbling out in more hurtful words.

“You knew about that?” Minho breathes out shortly, the grip of his fingers around your wrist loosening when your eyes tear up.

“Not until yesterday I didn’t, but you had your fun right? Bet you enjoyed every second of it,” you hate yourself for tearing up so easily, for letting his words affect you so much that it made you shrivel up and cower in fear of more. There was something about his anger that hurt you even more than before.

The venom in your voice was amiss, the way it tumbled out wrapped in hurt and vulnerability and yet again, Minho is reminded of exactly how much he had messed up, all over again.

“I didn’t do it so I could gloat at you or have fun,” he breathes out, rubbing his face tiredly, “I’m so sick of not being able to talk to you or hold you or even–”

His words are cut short, trapped at the back of his throat and he swallows them down forcefully, heaving his chest in exertion and blinking his eyes rapidly.

“I love you, I really do (y/n), believe me please.”

What are you even supposed to say? The same man had told you, six months into your relationship, that he had in fact not been sure of his feelings for you, immediately nullifying any meaning behind the three syllables he had so often muttered in your ears or against your lips, and now here he was saying the same thing. How were you expected to not not let this affect you?

“Stop it, I don’t believe you anymore.”

“Give me a chance,” the sniffle breaks you, ripping your insides and swallowing you in a pit of your own pity. You won’t look at him, you won’t listen to him.

Lee Minho does not love you. He will never love, and you must convince yourself of that, no matter how much your heart faltered at the decision.

“No.”

Minho nods his head at the floor, slowly putting everything inside the box again and when the final article is put away, he stands up awkwardly with it in his hands, desperately trying to search for a single ounce of hesitance in your eyes, but you refuse to look up.

“Are you sure about this?”

No, you’re not sure what you’re sure of anymore. But this feels wrong; so, so wrong and yet this guarantees you a safeguard to your feelings, a way to ensure that you don't wear your heart on your sleeve.

“Yes.”

“Okay…okay.”

The door closes behind Minho, the silence in your house echoing against the walls and you’re left standing alone again. Outside your door, Minho stands motionless, slowly letting the parasite squirming in his stomach to reach out for his heart and squeeze it till he could no longer breathe.

twelve.

If love was in the air was a literal concept, this would be it.

The halls were bursting with over buzzed students trying out the various booths that had been put up. It had taken your and Jisung’s combined efforts and reassurances to convince Hyunjin to get a breather and man his own photography booth that he had abandoned in a panicked frenzy of ensuring all the others were running smoothly, leaving poor Jisung to fend off by himself.

The halls were entirely decked with pink and red streamers with posters pointing towards various booths put up along with balloons. The quadrant was set up with kiosks and food stalls, lovely flower arrangements lining up the perimeter, and glitter! There was so much glitter everywhere, most of the planning committee that had been directly involved in dealing with it still had specks of it in their hair, and though they gave Hyunjin the stank eye once in a while, anybody could tell they were proud of their hard work and happy about it too. Hyunjin had really gone all out, you doubted he had spared a single penny of their budget from going into this.

As for you, you were mostly in the announcement room helping with the setup and ensuring all the PA systems were connected to the hallways and running. It temporarily helped in taking your mind off things because boy was your mind buzzing with countless thoughts.

It had been only two days – two days since you turned down Minho, two days since you stopped receiving handmade chocolates and pre-ordered coffee, two days of classes without Minho, two days of nervously holding your breath in every class you shared with him for him to turn up, only to find out that the boy had seemingly disappeared the face of the earth.

Two days of Minho not being anywhere near you and you felt like you had committed the greatest crime in the universe.

Trying to talk to Felix had been futile; he had been in and out of classes in a fretful scurry, mumbling about the humongous amount of baking that had to be done for the D-day and all he could supply you with was a non-committal excuse about being busy.

In short, you hadn’t seen nor heard nor heard of Minho in the past forty eight hours, and now you were worried. Funny how the tables had turned, but oh well, irony doesn’t leave anyone unattended.

So far you had managed to pass off the gurgling pit of of anxiety reflected on your face as nerves about talking into the PA; Hyunjin had been to caught up in his worries and accepted the explanation, but it was a hard pass against Felix who you were currently standing across the booth from, trying to divert his attention with compliments about his cookies.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he deadpans, your eyes blinking at him innocently as you chew on the delicacy. You had about half an hour to report to the broadcasting room, so you were whiling away your time trying to pry whatever information you could about Minho from his roommate, stealthily disguising it under a veil of compliments. It wasn’t working.

“I know something happened between you, you don’t have to pretend (y/n),” he rolls his eyes before turning to a customer with a smile and attending to them. The duality, you do not deserve such slander. But you do decide to drop with the pretence.

“I just want to know if he’s fine, okay? I think I…I was too harsh.”

This was true, but also very embarrassing to admit. It was like one of those moments in life where you say or do something and the immediate train of regret hits you with full force, derailing you from your own resolution and dumping your limp body in a sea of embarrassment and strong desire to turn back time.

Having second thoughts was sadly a part of this whole ordeal, the deal sealed off with a nice pinch of passionate frustration and a confused temperament. Yet, you do not find yourself willing to stand up to the challenge of facing and amending the distress you were left reeling with.

There was a lot you had to admit, the heaviness of your pent up feelings weighing you down but you didn’t know how to say it out loud.

“Listen,” Felix’s attention is on you again, but not for long as more people approach him, “I don’t know what’s going on between you guys, but even a five year old can tell that there’s definitely something between you guys. Now I know I’ve never been in a relationship and definitely have no concept of timely damage control, but if you want to make things right, do it now. I don’t want to graduate from this hellhole watching two of my friends become strangers. It doesn’t matter if you don’t get back together, but you can’t let yourselves be ripped apart like this, okay?”

“I know you both love each other,” his words spread like a warm fire through you, “but you’re both idiots who won’t admit it.” Wrong, Minho did admit it, you were just too scared to let him have a part of your heart again after the first time. This was on you, and it was starting to feel scary to bear such a burden.

“And if you tell me that a month from now, you can walk past each other in the hall as if nothing had happened like there was no history between you two, I might believe you. But if you tell me that you didn’t regret doing this in the future, I will laugh in your face, because damn you would have to be convincing to lie like that.”

Stunned, you can only nod at him meekly, gulping down the bitter taste at the back of your throat at the mention of becoming estranged with someone you loved so dearly.

“Don’t do this…this wallowing in self pity and pretending to be okay when you both know it’s far from that, just go talk to each other.”

Felix finishes with a pat on your shoulder and a gentle squeeze before leaving you to walk away with heavy steps and a strong desire to dash to the nearest washroom to force those tears back.

You realise that the first step had been to confess the very fact – Minho was someone you loved. The thought of graduating and leaving this place without him by your side was daunting. He had been half of the reasons this place had been bearable. Beyond the four walls with a projector overhead, and a professor droning about something you were too distracted to register, he had always been there to pass notes to you with silly doodles or sent you cat memes to while the time or scratched out wobbly stars in the corner of your notebooks. The little things that you had stored as memories were resurfacing and the heavy realisation of your endearing affection for them was settling in.

Everything suddenly felt overwhelming; your thoughts were tangled in a numb mess making your head throb with a dull thud. The beautiful decorations around you were a blur of red, the loud buzzing of excited people, a drone in your ears.

Love was in the air, but you were out of breath, suffocating as the voices inside your head drowned you out from the world.

thirteen.

You and Seungmin had done about a fifty confessions in three hours, all with a periodic music break where Changbin and Chan would take over, belting out beats and occasionally promoting their band. You were sure Hyunjin wouldn't mind, especially not when it was 3racha in question; the entire campus was in love with the trio.

Hyunjin had burst into the room during one such song break, cheeks flushed and eyes twinkling – literally twinkling in happiness – and spluttered out in an excited mess about how he had seen at least a dozen people ask each other out after the confessions were read out.

“Only a dozen? We’ve read about fifty of these…” Seungmin said monotonously, but Hyunjin was seemingly unfettered with the less than enthusiastic reaction.

“I’ve seen a dozen, but who knows how many more are out there? Cheer up Seungmin, I’ll get you a coffee – in fact, I’ll get you all a snack, my treat for working so hard!”

Well, someone was definitely in a good mood, and neither of you were going to turn down the offer of free food and drinks. Besides, you did kind of deserve it after all.

Aside from one bathroom break, you had stayed inside the broadcasting room for most part of the day, volunteering to stay back when the crew wanted to go out and enjoy for a while. Oh and, you had also messaged Felix every half an hour, inquiring whether Minho had come to the fest and every time he had responded with a variation of ‘not yet’ and ‘I haven’t seen him yet’. There might have been a reason you were trying not to leave this room yet.

The rational part of you agreed that calling the man in question would yield better results, but the emotional part of you decided against it if you didn’t want to freeze up at the sound of his voice and burst into tears in the middle of a sappy confession.

Speaking of confessions, it was your turn for another one and it seemed awfully familiar the moment you read out the name. Seungmin gestures at you just as Chan drowns out the last notes of the current song playing and signals for you to start.

“That was ‘On Track’, produced by none other than our favourite trio, 3racha! And now it’s time for another lovely confession! This one’s from loverboy20,” you smile, knowing only too well who this was, slightly excited at how this was going to turn out since you don’t remember reading this before, “to the guy who’s been on his mind since freshman year.”

“Hi, it’s loverboy20 here and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do this but heck, if I don’t do this now, I’ll never get down to it and then I’m going to regret my entire life about not asking out the cute guy I’ve had a crush on for ages and…I’m rambling now.

I would go back and type this out all over again, but you need to know exactly how hard this is for me and I’ve already been staring at my screen for an hour, unsure of what to type because I have no idea what to say or how to go about this but forgive me, I hope you won’t hate me entirely once this is over.

I saw you first in the freshman orientation and thought you were kinda cute with your flannel shirt and beanie. You looked like the cool kid with your guitar, sitting in the row in front of me and putting in your headphones. I don’t think anyone noticed but me – they weren’t even connected to your phone. It was cute, you were I mean…you still are.

And then I met you in the talent show where we got paired up for the impromptu segment and we had this huge fight about rapping better and dancing better and…long story short, the crush I had on you was slowly starting to feel questionable. But! But then just as I was starting to get over it, you go ahead and do something stupidly cute like paying for my americano because I didn’t have money on me and saving me from embarrassing myself. I think we started hitting it off from there and then…well, it just happened. Like…I started falling for you more and then one day it was like getting hit by a train full of those feelings. I mean, you were right there in front of me in your flannel shirt again and I just suddenly felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me.

This is…oh my god, this is so embarrassing, I’m basically rambling about how you made me fall for you oh my god…anyway…it just felt right.

Being with you, spending even the passing moments between hectic classes just getting coffee or sailing up late to talk to you while you worked; it made me happy and I want to keep doing it. I like you, a lot. You make me so happy and I have to physically stop my heart from leaping out when you’re around and can you please not hold my hands without a warning, it makes me nervous…no actually, you can hold my hand if you want to. If you want to, if you don’t hate me already. I’m just shooting my shot, you probably don’t like me and I might never be able to face you again after this, but yeah…okay.

If you don’t already know, this is for you, Han Jisung. My confession probably sucked, I can’t write beautiful words like you do or belt out a song like you but I really, really like you. That’s that then. This is loverboy20, and if you plan on getting back to me, I’ll be working with you in the photography booth.”

Jesus fucking Christ, Hyunjin had really done it. Changbin had positively squealed after the confession, hitting Chan in the chest and pretending to cry; you wouldn’t have been surprised if he had actually cried. Seungmin had also been smiling, unable to stop the surprised chuckle when he heard Jisung’s name. Chan just looked like a proud dad sending his kids off to school for the first time.

Something about this spiel had broken you though.

It felt right…

That’s what Hyunjin said. It felt right when he was with Jisung and it made him happy. And knowing Jiusng’s side of the story, his mutual feelings for him which no doubt would be finally conveyed now, they had both ultimately worked it out through their differences and fallen for each other right?

The phrase bugged you. It stuck to you like leech, sucking on your mind incessantly until you realised what it was. But of course, that’s exactly how you always felt with Minho. It had felt so right, just like the night Hyunjin had first told you, like this was meant to be and the feeling is so oddly familiar, it drowns you in it’s simplicity like a warm hug comforting you after a gruesome fight of heart over mind and you realise that wearing your heart on your sleeves was worth it if it was Minho.

It was Minho all along; you would always go back to him because you know – and the enormity of the realisation settles in with a relief – that he’s loved you since the beginning. He had taken time getting there, maybe he had never realised or indeed never had feelings for you romantically, but he had been there as your friend always. He was there with warm soup when you were sick, with his childish berating when you pulled one too many all-nighters, there with an umbrella when you were stuck without one on campus, there to kiss you goodnight after every date.

Minho waited till he was entirely sure of his feelings for you, because in the end he was afraid of hurting you. And even then he only spoke the truth; all he wanted was your trust and time. You trust his feelings, he’s never meant to harm you before nor now. You just forgot to trust the process and the time it took for him to get there and it ashames you now.

You didn’t cry all those weeks after the breakup because you had found it hard to accept that he hadn’t loved you just as much as you did. You had cried because you knew he did, for he had trusted you enough to tell you that, but he hadn’t found it in himself to let you down in fear of losing you. And wasn’t that what both of you had been afraid of? Treading around each other like you were walking on a floor made of glass, the inevitable fear of stepping too hard and losing each other in the midst of the million shards you would tumble down with.

There was a way – a final chance – to put this right.

What you were about to do would probably haunt you for life if it all went wrong but you loved him. You love him. You know this. And that’s where you’ll start – by accepting it.

fourteen.

Minho can’t fathom why he’s here. He should be anywhere but here, feeling swaddled by all the couples and the cute couple games and the over-the-top decorations.

He hates it all and he hates your voice over the speaker right now, reading out Hyunjin’s confession. He was there in person to witness Hyunjin growing redder by the second and Jisung’s brain trying to process everything. Cute, disgustingly cute. That could have been you and him.

He spots Felix’s booth in the midst of all the chaos, the boy himself looking flushed as he was constantly on the run. Word had spread about his bake sale, and people had started flocking to his booth, leaving him hassled as he was a one man army. He didn’t notice Minho till he walked right up to the front and slipped inside his stall.

“Hyung, I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Hey Lix, you look busy,” Minho states, observing from behind as he collects cash and gives out wrapped cookies and brownies, thanking every customer with a bright smile. A few students may have simpered over his boyish charms, but Felix was too busy to notice, failing to notice their obvious flirting. Minho has to hide a laugh as they walk away disappointed with cookies in their hands.

When the crowd dwindles a little, Minho could make out Seungmin’s voice on the speakers now, no doubt swapping with you after five consecutive readings. He finally gets a chance to strike up a conversation with his roommate.

“Business looks prosperous,”

Felix smirks back at him, pocketing the cash he had received before saying, “Yeah, the crowd's pretty good. Some people even came back for seconds, they love this stuff!”

“Of course they do, you’re good at it,” Minho shrugs off-handedly, but Felix could sense the genuine praise underneath.

“Hey hyung, can you do me a favour? I’ve got two cartons of this stuff in my car in the parking lot, can you bring me one? Can’t really leave the booth empty.”

Minho didn’t mind helping out, he anyway didn’t have much to do around here and he had only come because Felix had pestered him to get out of the house and stop sulking all weekend. Granted, the first thing he had heard was your voice reading out a confession like it was your own, he hadn't turned around and sprinted right away like he had thought he would have.

Felix hands him his car keys and off he goes to the parking lot, where there’s a relatively smaller number of people. It takes him a while to search for the car, all the while walking further away from the building, seungmin’s voice a faint noise in the back, and finally finds the familiar blue one parked right in the back.

Carefully taking out one of the boxes, he marvels at its weight and can only assume it’s loaded to the brim. If any of this manages to get saved, Minho has a feeling he knows what the 3 AM snack for the entire next month is going to be. Sometimes, he marvels at the younger boy and the amount of baking he can get done in a matter of a few hours.

As he’s walking back, he registers your voice which was on again on the speakers, growing louder the minute he got closer to the building. He tries his best to ignore the knot in his stomach but stops when he hears your next words.

“The next confession is to an ex, from… anonymous.”

There’s a pause on your end, but Minho is starting to anticipate this one. The word ex resounds loudly inside his head, his chest constricting when he hears the way you say it. It was as if you were taking this to heart when it wasn’t even your confession.

“Hi…I hope you’ve been doing well, I kind of miss you…maybe more than just “kind of”...

I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this right now, it seems crazy; I feel crazy doing this, but honestly? Screw it, I don’t think I can lie to myself anymore. I know I was trying to save face and keep my distance but a part of me was desperately trying to protect my feelings and yours.

I don’t think you’re here right now, I hope you’re not. Or maybe you are, in which case, good. But not really. This is hard…I don’t have this written out and I can’t do this extempore, but you’re not here, so it’s okay. Are you here though? It doesn’t matter…”

Minho is completely frozen to his spot. He was hoping for too much, but even with your face hidden, he could hear the panic in your voice. Why were you panicked?

“I know I acted like an ass, I know I messed up too but I realised that I couldn’t force you to feel the same way as I did. Maybe you needed more time, and perhaps I should have been willing to give you more of that.

I know we made mistakes – both of us – and I’m scared that this might be the end of everything, but I thought about it for so long and I want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being able to give you more time when you needed it, I should’ve never expected you to fall in love with me all at once; I forgot we all have different paces and different ways of loving.

You said you didn’t love me; maybe I’m being delusional and hopeful when I say this, but I think you did…love me. Maybe not all at once, but it was there – you were there – in bits and pieces; in the way you picked up blueberry muffins on Wednesdays because you knew I didn’t have time for breakfast, in the way you got annoyed at having to pick up coffee for me but you did it anyway, in the way you sat all night looking up my favourite shows so we could enjoy it together, in the way you added peas to my scrambled eggs because I liked it that way.

I noticed it all, but somehow I…I overlooked it. I took it for granted, getting mad at you because you didn’t or couldn’t say those three words back at me because all I wanted was for you to love me as much as I loved you…as much as I still love you. But you did,and you cared so much for me, and I failed to see it. And that makes me feel shitty, but I deserve it.

I want you to know that I still love you, I do. So stop giving me boxes of my favourite chocolates and paying for my coffee and let’s talk this out. I promise, I’ll listen better this time, and I’ll wait for as long as it takes for you to reach out. I promise I won’t rush you, and if you still never feel the same as I do, I promise I’ll not hold you accountable for it.

So Lee Minho, if you’re out there and listening to this…I miss you, so much. And I love you, and won’t ever stop loving you. But let’s talk this out, as adults, and whatever happens, I’ll accept it with grace. I owe you that, so, yeah…”

There’s a pause not many notice due to the chaos, but for those who were listening, they pick up on the abrupt music that starts playing. Minho is one of them, but he doesn’t register the slip up because he can’t, in all honesty, think of anything right now.

He was left reeling in his spot, unable to move his feet from where they were planted on the ground. Lee Minho, that was his name – you said his name. This was your confession. Fuck.

It was hard to ignore the stare at your back and the bated breath with which everybody had been listening to your ramble, but it’s even harder to ignore the rapid beating of your chest, the only sound now drumming in your ears obnoxiously.

Before you know it, your feet are moving of their own accord. You’re pushing yourself up from the chair, ignoring the cramp that had settled after sitting for more than an hour in the same place and in a split second you’re out the door and running nowhere in particular. Nobody stops you, and even if they tried, they doubted they would be able to.

It almost looked like Felix had been expecting you. He definitely looked surprised when you panted to a stop in front of him, ignoring the weird stares you received, only two syllables coming out of your mouth, “Where’s Minho?”

“He’s in the parking lot.”

That’s it. That’s all you need before you’re running again, slithering through the crowd and wheezing when you finally reach the parking lot. He was here. Minho was here, in the parking lot, on campus and he probably heard your confession. He hates you now, he definitely hates you and the sudden realisation that he heard your confession almost makes you want to tear the world apart in embarrassment. But you couldn’t turn back now.

You were too far down this hole to climb back up any time soon and you were going to see the end of it.

fifteen.

When you had imagined this happening, you had been less daunted by the prospect. Additionally, you also had the safety of these thoughts being in your head and never in real life.

In short, you felt like shitting your pants.

Minho was not saying anything. In fact, after pulling you into one of the lecture halls inside the building the best he could with a heavy box of cookies he was least worried about for now, he hadn’t done much except quietly lean back on the desk, waiting for you to speak while you sat in front of him on one of the benches. This was nerve wracking, the unpredictability of the situation and the long foreboding silence that you had both been sitting in. you had both been riveted by a small patch of dust, swirling around in a small typhoon in a sunny corner of the room, watching the silent chaos quietly.

The room feels too big without the presence of students filling it, you’ve never noticed it before, with its large windows and the sun streaming in like golden ribbons, exactly how much silence it can hold within its four walls.

You’re the first to break the silence.

“About earlier, I don’t know why I did that. I thought you weren’t going to be there, I mean not that it’s bad you heard but–”

“Did you mean it?” Minho cuts you off, but he sounds wary, cautious of where he treads because the trepidation that comes along with a feeling of things coming to an end blankets the two of you heavily.

“Which part?” your voice is reduced to a whisper, your thoughts too loud and overpowering.

“All of it…do you love me?”

This was easier done on the speaker and spoken into a mic. Now you’re too aware of Minho’s gaze staring you down and the sound of his shifting feet on the ground; your head is held low where your own eyes fixate on the ground till you see the tip of his shoes come into view and the telltale presence of a person close to you.

“My inadequacy to love you was never your fault (y/n), I swear I have loved you for ages but I didn’t want to lose you with my incapability of being sufficient.” Minho had to bare his all for this, in a mutual attempt to right the wrong and speak the unspoken, even if it made him want to dig a hole and bury himself under for eternity.

“I know Minho, I know. I’m sorry for not being able to recognise that sooner.”

“But I want to be with you, and for that I was most certain I didn’t want to lie about anything.”

“So you said you never loved me?”

“I never meant that. You know I’m an idiot, you know I suck with words and I would rather you hated me for it than have to speak out my feelings. All of those cruel things I said, all that shouting, every waking moment I wish I could take it all back. But I’m such a fool for you (y/n), I hate what you do to me.”

“You were never insufficient, and you certainly weren’t in the wrong to tell me the truth. I was just too hurt and blinded by the people around me bent on making me believe that you didn’t love me enough…when you said it out loud, I lost it.”

“I should have never made you feel like you were any less loved than others.”

“It was never your fault, it was simply a question of time.”

“I’m such an idiot…”

It came without a preamble and so suddenly, it made you want to joke about it. Minho was anything but an idiot, only too aware of his feelings and deeply connected to them that he had felt guilty for lying about it to you.

“I know you’re an idiot Minho,” a light laughter leaves your lips, your chest gradually starting to feel lighter the more Minho talked, ignoring the fluttering in your heart.

“Is my misery funny to you?”

“No, but your blabbering is,”

“Don’t laugh, please. I feel like a fool and you’re the one who just poured their heart out in front of hundreds of people.”

“Yes, I suppose idiocy seeps into you when one’s around you for too long.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“So, is this it?”

“It is if you want it to be.”

“I just thought this would be a lot more serious. And you might cry, not that I want you to cry but I thought I would make you cry again…not that I wanted to.”

“We’ve both bared too much already Min,” Minho feels like the sun itself had bloomed inside him, the warmth of his name tumbling through your lips like sweetened honey spread through him like wildfire, “I wouldn’t have wanted this to go any other way.”

And it’s true. When you walked into this classroom, you were ready to accept whatever it was that was to befall without any complaints. Regrets, perhaps, but if your heart was to be broken when you left this room, you were prepared for it. It made this talk so much easier when it didn’t end up with a promise of tears.

You came here with an intent and it was to do your best so you didn’t lose someone you loved dearly, no matter the price.

A long silence ensues. You can hear the tunes of a soft song floating through the speakers outside, almost as if Chan had planned it for the right moment.

Minho leans down and holds your face in his hands, closing the gap between you gently before kissing you. God, you had missed this. You had forgotten how gentle Minho could be when it came to you, how he kissed you softly but firmly, slowly prying your lips open till you were completely drowning in him.

Bringing your hands up, you gently pry yourself apart from him, feeling yourself melt when you notice the panic in his eyes. The parasite inside him starts wiggling again, had you not wanted this?

“It’s okay, I just want you to know that you don’t have to rush this. I’ll be here for you always, I promise.”

Minho feels the parasite inside him slowly withering with every word you speak and every soft stroke of your thumb across his cheek.

“I already know I love you.”

“So you won’t run away?”

“I promise I won’t. And I’ll make it up to you for eternity.”

“That’s cheesy,” your heart does miss a beat.

“I know. I’m going to regret this later.”

“Must be all the love in the air.”

“Must be…”

A cheesy verse about a boy serenading the love of his life breaks out in a tender melody, but you’re both kissing again, never rushing into the feeling of it, just quietly drowning in each other.

“You know, an eternity is a long time,” you say, breaking apart for air again and pressing one long kiss on his lips, “are you sure you’re up for it?”

“I don’t think it would be that bad.”

For the first time in months, Minho finally feels himself liberated from that tight knot in his chest and the parasite that once resided there, nowhere in sight. His insides glow warm under your touch and his overwired mind is finally calm and bereft of muddled thoughts.

The shadows shift and the dust in the corner of the room finally dies down, settling on the ground gently.

The immense longing of your hearts finally reach out for each other, intertwining each other in a warm hug that comforts the turbulent melancholy within and the loneliness starts to fade away.

An eternity wouldn’t be that bad after all.

#stray kids imagines #lee know imagines #stray kids minho imagines #stray kids lee know imagines #lee minho imagines #stray kids angst #aks angst #stray kids x you #skz x you #lee know x you

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scoops-aboy86 · 2 months

Text

Cute hospital date shenanigans for the boys, and a brief shovel talk from Robin. 😊

Part 1, part 1.5, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9 of the love spell no go au

They do have their hospital cafeteria date a few weeks later, and the food is as terrible as Steve promised. Or it looks terrible, anyway; Eddie sticks to jello. Eventually Steve gives up on the saddest attempt at a club sandwich either of them has ever seen (and Eddie has been privy to Wayne’s half-hearted bachelor attempts in the kitchen for years), gets back in line, and comes back with a tray full to capacity with more jello cups.

They attempt to treat them like jello shots until Eddie nearly busts a stitch laughing. Not quite, but It still hurts, and Steve keeps falling all over himself apologizing for the next half hour, but Eddie genuinely doesn’t care. It feels like he hasn’t been able to laugh like that in years, and before he’d grabbed his side and said “Ow” he thinks Steve looked more carefree than he’d seen him in… possibly ever. The existence of Upside Down had been weighing on him for years, and even though Eddie hadn’t known at the time he can tell that Steve holds himself differently now that it’s gone. In just the time Eddie has been awake, the dark smudges under his eyes have gotten lighter, less severe.

And, Robin tells him one of the rare occasions Steve isn’t at his bedside, the obsessive jogging and workout sessions have tapered off.

“Thank god,” Eddie groans, leaning theatrically back into his pillows as if in a swoon. “I don’t think my delicate constitution could handle it if he ever asked me to go for a run with him.” But really, he’s relieved that Steve isn’t pushing himself so hard, running himself ragged to prepare for a threat that has finally been put down for good.

Robin snorts. “Yeah, I think we can safely rule out that happening. He pestered Dustin into helping him find books on physical therapy at the library though, so I’m pretty sure you’re still in for it.”

“… Okay, that sounds ominous.”

“Doesn’t it just.” She leans forward, eyes narrowing slightly. “The dingus is very invested in making sure you heal up as best you can, and I think you know what happens when he sets his mind to something. You’re going to get well to within an inch of your life, mister, and if you ever bitch enough to make him truly upset or feel unwanted in any way, I will destroy your fretting hand. Got it?”

Eddie swallows hard. “Loud and clear, Bucks.”

“Good!” Robin sits back, switching easily from deeply threatening to relaxed and smirking. “Now that that’s out of the way, I can tease you for being just as much of a romantic as he is. A love spell, really?”

That’s when Steve returns from the bathroom, overhears, and groans. “Rob, I hadn’t told him I told you yet! You’re making me look like a jackass…”

“No no, I knew what I was getting into with you two,” Eddie says, recovering from the threat Steve had missed and flashing him a grin—because he does. Even before he was clued in on all the monster hunting stuff, he’s seen how close Steve and Robin have become since last summer. It makes even more sense now that he knows about the Russians (and that as a lesbian and a bisexual dude they’d bonded over a shared appreciation of boobies) but he already knew they tell each other everything and support each other relentlessly, even if it’s something dumb. Maybe especially if it’s something dumb.

And then he turns back to Robin with a gleam in his eye.

“By the way, Bucks, you might want to get used to the door swinging both ways, because I heard about the time you screwed up the laundry and crawled in his window before dawn on a school day looking like a pink marshmallow peep trying to steal some of his clothes.”

Robin whips her head around towards Steve. “You swore you wouldn’t tell anyone about that!”

“Why are both of you doing this to me?” Steve asks with a pout. “What did I do?”

“You’re a gossip, sweetheart,” Eddie tells him with a grin. “But we both still love you, don’t worry. Here, you want my pudding cup?”

“I thought that was the only part of the shitty hospital meals you actually like,” Steve protests, but gamely comes over (via the side of the bed opposite of Robin, who sticks her tongue out at him) and settles himself carefully on the edge of the bed at Eddie’s side.

“The meatloaf is marginally more edible than whatever that chicken casserole thing they usually serve. But we can share,” Eddie offers, and takes Steve’s pleased hum as his answer.

“You guys are going to give me a toothache,” Robin grumbles.

Steve lifts his head a little. “Shit, that reminds me. Help me remember later to call the dentist?” He’s looking at Robin, but quickly redirects his attention as soon as Eddie nudges the pudding spoon against his lips.

“Oh? What happened to Mr. Oh So Superior, ‘I never have to go to the dentist Robs, that whole summer eating ice cream and not one single cavity’?”

At the word ‘cavity,’ a tiny landslide of memory is triggered in the back of Eddie’s head and he clears his throat sheepishly. “Uh, that might’ve been me, actually. The not getting cavities after Scoops, and the, um, getting them again now.”

Steve pauses with his mouth full of a second spoonful, little traces of chocolate on his lips that Eddie is valiantly resisting licking right now. His “Mm-hmm?” sounds like it’s maybe meant to be a ‘Really?’

So Eddie explains some of his panicked spellcasting while Steve was missing beneath the mall. Steve and Robin keep exchanging these looks—”Was it to protect teeth or nails, Munson? Which one?” “Yeah, because I almost got a nail pulled off with Russian pliers, so maybe it was both” is a series of sentences that will haunt him for a long time—and by the time it’s over he’s promised to recast that spell for the entire Party. He declines to mention it’ll probably be a while before he has the energy for that and will leave him with a monster headache whenever he does, because they just saved the fucking world. And yeah, the government is flat out paying them not to tell anyone about it this time along with the usual NDAs, but they definitely deserve to exist free of dental expenses for the rest of their lives.

Also by the end of the conversation, Steve has absentmindedly finished off the pudding. Eddie doesn’t even mind, just chuckles and kisses Steve’s nose when he tries to apologize, because he’d wanted his boy to have it anyway.

Tag list (comment to be added): @hotluncheddie @8em-em-em8 @anaibis @connected-dots @lawrencebshoggoth

Part 11

#wg steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #love spell no go au #scoops words

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gokartkid · 1 year

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f1 fic rec list

self indulgent! my personal masterlist of hits, also theres 25 of them... 25 days of fic christmas, an advent calendar perhaps!

turn back and return by @rudesses

“No! We are climbing together,” Charles says, because Charles is very generous. He likes to phrase it that way—together. They haven’t climbed together in years.

charles/alex mountaineering au, SUCH good characterisation, the universe is so full and it has this like. longing-not-going-for-it that makes me crazy. THEE chalex fic to me. it holds tension so well and really makes you feel nervous in the high adrenaline moments, and you can tell the care that charles and alex have for each other, and their well established relationship immediately as the fic starts, which i think is so well communicated in so little time!

phantoms and pencil marks by cazio

Pierre woke to a boy sitting next to his bed. Amnesia AU

pierre/charles, amnesia au where pierres been in a accident and has severe amnesia, its written so well from his perspective you can feel his confusion the whole time and its amazing piarles but also a standout character study of pierre it has so many painful moments, i love how pierre he... is meeting charles again and again, but warped and you can see how painful it is for everyone. so so so good. it takes everything i love about amnesia fics and elevates it

Second Star to the Right by @gufettogrigio

It is stupid of Nico to even give Lewis the chance to notice. The hot water kettle is just a bit too heavy at breakfast one morning and Nico loses his grip. Lewis is next to him at the buffet table of the hotel and catches it out of reflex; Nico knows better than to think it’s kindness. He stares at where Nico’s fingers are still refusing to cooperate. "What happened to your hand?" "Nerves" - Nico answers with a shrug, glad for the double meaning in the English phrasing. It's up to Lewis how he wants to interpret it; Nico didn't lie.

nico rosberg/lewis hamilton but also jenson button/nico rosberg but separately, there are alternate endings.

SOO so so iconic, i have reread this multiple times. mind the tags, but it's an incredible nico character study, everyone in this is amazing but especially toto, this line: [Toto laughs, kindly. “You are my World Champion and I’ve only got two of those. I am invested in your continued survival. Always.”] it is everything to me. nicos mentality about himself, his feelings about racing, about the championship, about lewis. wow!

provenance by ecorone

At the end of the world, art curator Lewis Hamilton finds his way back to the artist called no5.

lewis/sebastian, genuinely like. an incredible work of art fic. it's an apocalypse - non driver - surreal fic. its setting is if the end of the world dinosaur times were happening now, and what to do with all your regrets, and follows lewis as the main character. it has so much depth to it, the writing style itself is incredible. the characterisations, the philosophies, the EVERYTHING. i left an insane comment on it just so i could spill my thoughts out better and i can't do it a second time hahaha but i would so so so highly recommend reading, to be honest even if sewis is not your thing just because. imo it is so much more than just a fic about drivers. also read their other stuff bc i do not like lewis/max as a pairing but i will vouch for ecorones interpretation as being. THEE lewis/max thesis.

echo of the future by @tetrapod7

Lewis, once on the path of the Jedi and now in the midst of the Galactic Empire, learns of the chance to save ancient Jedi texts. Max, a stormtrooper, becomes smuggler Daniel Ricciardo's copilot. They too pursue the Jedi texts -- with the hope of selling them to the Empire. Their stories collide at the Jedi Temple on Genbara. As the danger of an Imperial Star Fleet looms large, Max, Daniel, Lewis, Seb, and Jamie have to figure out what matters most to them, what they owe to each other, and devise a plan for an unavoidable space battle with the Empire -- a battle for their future and hopes.

lewis/sebastian max&daniel i will like. forever and always be a star wars guy x i read this in one sitting it made me feel insane everything about it is perfect, all of the storylines running at once then colliding. lewis in this especially is EXCEPTIONAL, r0s-c0 made me laugh so hard when i read it. droids 4eva! the particular sw verse this is is built up perfectly there are SO many details here and so much world building it makes me want to eat it. the entire atmosphere is quintissentially star wars, a mission running on hope and a few credits. amazing <3

in that iron ground by @lilyrizzy

"Maxy,” Daniel says and it sounds like he’s choking. Max frowns, deeper. He crouches in front of Daniel, resting his hands on his bare thighs. Daniel is still only wearing the boxers and undershirt he went to sleep in. Nothing’s changed. “Daniel, what is wrong?” Max repeats. Daniel swallows. I don’t want things to change, he thinks again. “My dad’s dead," he says. Or Daniel takes Max home to Perth for a funeral.

max/daniel incredible scholarship on daniel and max, who they are to each other especially in daniels lowest moment, i love how it... it is the lowest point of daniel that we are seeing which brings out so much depth to his character, and who he is especially behind his like, media/character mask. the characterisation of daniels family, how he struggles to process the grief, the complexities around grief and the consistent running undertone of why-mine-and-not-yours surrounding max and daniels fathers. his internalised homophobia/fear of coming out. amazing

sixteen cadences for children in bloom by distressedgremlin

Pierre flips his cap around and marks it on his calendar: 2021, the year of living selfishly

pierre/charles SUCH A GOOD PIERRE. such a good pierre. he deserves to be selfish and to live selfishly. i think seeing him become so confident is so great in this fic and especially the narrative foils between him, daniil and yuki i love, how he evolves in those relationships, becoming a team leader, becoming someone who HE likes. also obsessed with distressedgremlin's sewis fics. so so so obsessed. the le mans fic is everything to me

constellation falling into place by wraysford

For some reason, the last part is what sticks in Nico’s head, you were quick, in that awed, painfully genuine tone of Lewis’, but, he hastily reminds himself, how fast or slow he was back then doesn’t matter anymore or, wherein Nico goes to university and Lewis races

nico/lewis HEARTBREAKING au to me. nico quits racing and lewis doesn't and they meet again. im obsessed with it as a nico character study and a look inside his strange little brain in this universe... its perfect. the underlying jealous and what-could-have-been in every scene, the way lewis is so. GENUINE about wanting to reconnect with him, it kills me.

tomorrow on every shore by @missyourflight

This season on Below Deck Sailing Yacht... Six weeks. Nine charters. Lots of hot tub stuff. * “Is it not your colour?” Max says. The production team gave the whole crew new uniforms for this season, swapped their usual navy polos for something that apparently pops more on camera. It’s sort of peachy, not Max’s favourite, but it looks good on Daniel. “Please,” Daniel scoffs. “Everything’s my colour.” He bumps his hip into Max. “You weren’t tempted to go with the skort option?” Max bumps back, pretending to consider. “I thought about it, but it’s just not practical on deck, you know?” “Guests are arriving,” Christian says, his smile tight, eyes fixed ahead. “Could we attempt to act like professionals, please?” And then the guests are on the dock, and everyone puts on smiles to greet them, and it’s almost like a normal charter except for all the fucking cameras everywhere.

max/daniel, below deck au, i read this right after binging below deck med so obvs it was perfect. i love everyones characterisation especially christians. + yuki as the chef is perfect. i love the interview sections paired with whats happening in the fic bc its like... i love an unreliable perspective! fantastic au and they are so 3D fleshed out

striving for goodness while the cruel men win by @misonikomi

Lewis had been at a disadvantage. Cruelty had never been bred into her; she had to learn it one piece at a time. When she first started karting, she had tried to blend in with the other kids, an impossible feat. There had been so much violence even then, in the way the kids looked at her, spoke to her, and touched her. She had to learn that violence as well, in order to win

lewis/sebastian, gender swap au, i think one of the first and only i read because i get a bit nervous about them, but incredible, incredible thesis material. the characterisations of lewis and charles and amazing, how they change and are the same as women. perfect narrative foils for each other. sebastian and lewis' relationship in this is fantastic, how lewis' past with nico has affected her into her relationship with seb but also with f1 in general. suzie is standout in this to me, the woman-woman relationships in general are perfect

december makes me quiet by @warriorbarnes

“Hallo?” he greets, and gets to his feet. “There is a snow storm,” are the words he’s met with. He’s taken aback at first, the accented english not what he’d expected, and has to recalibrate his brain from german to english. His brows knit together when he realizes who it is on the other end of the line. “Charles?” he asks. or, right before Christmas, Seb gets an unexpected guest.

sebastian/charles, one of my favourite sebchal fics!!! i think it handles that line between awkwardness and getting to know each other so well. any sebchal fic that has charles being normal around sebastian is immediately inaccurate, we know his complexes! i love to read it... so comforting, being snowed in is THE premise!

lucky thirteen by @azzy421

Being the daughter of the most successful racing driver in the world (retired) comes with a lot of privilege and a few very notable downsides. 1. Dad is famous, and it makes people act weird around him and ask Ayla weird things, like what he eats for breakfast or what deodorant he uses. 2. Sometimes he gets talked into going to Germany for the summer to talk about engines and aerodynamics with Uncle Toto’s team for months on end. And this is only really annoying because - 3. He never, ever wants to talk about racing with Ayla. Ayla, head over heels in love with the world of Formula 1, is determined that she’s going to prove she has what it takes to start karting, even if it means going behind her dad’s back to do it. When she discovers that not only is there a girls-only karting group next to their temporary home in Germany but that it’s being run by four-time World Champion Sebastian Vettel (Ayla’s second-favourite driver of all time) (also retired), she is determined to seize the opportunity with both hands. And, well. Her dad is lonely. Sebastian seems even lonelier. Solving that problem would be a nice bonus.

lewis/sebastian, i also usually never go for kid fics but this one intrigued me and it is SOOO good. seeing lewis through the lens of his kid, her passion for karting and especially his very, very real fear for her entering that world... so so so realistic and good. it has the exact right amount of self indulgence but also reality, i love seeing the 'future of f1' with mick, lando and george, and how lewis to ayla is still first and foremost her dad. sebastian in this is incredible but also this cannot be prophetic because if he did become an f1 hermit it would make me so sad xx

how to get it, how to live it by grandsprix

Alex wants to say no, because - well, because his ex was a closet case, and Charles is the kind of beautiful Alex is going to feel insecure about, and he has half a tub of strawberry cheesecake Haagen Daaz and a rental of Dune waiting for him at home after his shift, and is that worth giving up to give some French twink a blowjob in the staff bathroom? or, Alex works in a gay bar in Soho, and Charles is lost.

alex/charles, obviously love every grandprix chalex fic, but this is my favourite! i am so charmed and in love with charles' characterisation here, his clumsy confidence and how he is immediately offended by alex not wanting to have sex-sex with him haha also alex's like... slow sense of impending doom at becoming closer to him. perfect

come on, starboy by @yekoc

Daniel’s just slinging his bag over his shoulder to head out to the parking lot when there’s a noise behind him, the hollow metallic echo of a locker door slamming. Turning, he sees that kid. Max. The running back who always fumbles. He’s standing in front of the locker he just slammed, muscles tense. His too-big mouth is drawn into a flat line. He has his phone in his hand: he looks at it, puts it in his pocket, and grinds his fist against the bank of lockers in front of him. “Hey,” Daniel says, because he feels creepy now, just looking. The kid looks up at him, startled. “Oh,” he says. “Hi.”

max/daniel, obviously like anyone reading this list will have read this or if you haven't you should?? max and daniel are perfect in this actually perfect. it has that... stuck in a small town that you are outgrowing but will you ever be able to stretch. standout to me: the spectre of max's dad. we hardly see him properly but you can tell the impact he is having on max, and by extent on daniel. this is also possibly my favourite lewis, second only to new wave (new emotion). the way he steals the show for me in every scene he is in, his college aspirations, fears for the future, wanting to gone beyond the simplistic perceptions of him... amazing. number 2 yekoc favourite is glory from a high rise but i am only reccing one per author strictly to not make this list insane

the heartbeat is a hunger by @thelittlebirdthatkeptsomanywarm

2019 FORMULA ONE SPORTING REGULATIONS Art. 34: BONDING Teams are required to register all bonds between drivers with the FIA at the beginning of each season. New bonds must be formally recognized through a bonding ceremony under supervision of at least one FIA representative [...]. Art. 34.1 [added on 1.01.1993] Bonds between drivers competing for different teams are prohibited. I'm so unused to being - well, understood perhaps. - Vladimir Nabokov's first letter to his future wife, Véra

lewis/sebastian, lewis/nico, SUCH a good bonding au... a really interesting look into how dystopian something like this could get, and i think a realistic look into how sports is constantly pushing us to the limit so if there were more ways to do so.... they absolutely would take advantage? lewis and nico's relationship is so interesting here, and seb as the trope inversion is SOOO. it is so well executed.

new wave (new emotion) by nothoughtsjustvibes

In which Max realizes he’s in love with Daniel and flies to Colorado to make it Lewis’s problem. Lewis just wants him to leave – preferably on a plane to Australia.

max/daniel lewis&max, my favourite lewis. ever!!!!!! max in this is STELLAR as well, their relationship is so so funny and so well balanced, i mostly love how... lewis deals with AD21 mentally in this? and how he's like urgh max is here? i will be nice. to hey. max is pretty cool :) in a very organic sense and also lewis being a mentor figure when i have 2022 lh superimposed over 2008-2016 menace lh in my mind is very funny. lewis micromanaging max's problems to fix them is my favourite thing, also every small interaction with charles in here is brilliant.

crude generalisations and vulgar simplifications by @janinaduszejko

Alex remembers attending his first Cabinet meeting - he’d been awed by the imposant room, the history this place held, where wars had been declared, disasters averted and ensured, with its stately inner ring of ministers, surrounded by the bustling outer ring filled with their advisors and assistants. The gratitude he had felt in that moment, being a part of the centre of it all, the place where power housed. Almost six hours later, he’d stumbled out of the stuffy room with George at his side, eyes wide with commiseration as he’d led Alex through the narrow halls. “These ministers.” Alex had said, a hollow look in his eyes. “Are they all-?” “Afraid so.” George’s voice had been kind, but knowing, like he’d expected this and had grimly prepared himself. “Halfwits.” Alex had moaned, as George had patted him on the back in sympathy. “Fools and idiots, every last one of them.”

george/alex, so so osos oso os good. i LOVE a political au i love intrigue i love stupidity i love jargon <3 and this baby has it all!!! i love any kind of misunderstanding/torment in a fic and in this one... alex u are so good at torment <3 george also coming up with the weirdest solution to their workplace romance is SO him. christian horner in this made me laugh a lot. this was i think the start of my galex downfall

steal the air out of my lungs (make me feel it) by @baking-soda

Max has never been so tired in his life. He can’t believe he’s going into call like this, that he couldn’t get to sleep last night. What an idiot. “Hey,” Daniel says, sauntering into a work room balancing a green smoothie and two large coffees from the caf. He puts one in front of Max. “You ready to save lives, Maxy?”

max/daniel obviously like. titular maxiel material, but i read it again and often! i am not a med student by any means but ive done placements in hospitals + medsci papers and reading this was like. it is exactly the feeling! when ur in it and you are a cog in a very big machine made for helping people and it is the most exhausting thing you have ever done but the most fulfilling... max in this fic is so so so amazing. the dissonance between how he sees himself and everyone else around him sees him. scenes that stick with me: when hes going to text his dad about the intubation but then he deletes everything because he thinks it wasn't impressive even though he had just been riding high. and every scene where he comforts the rookies but he like.. doesn't even realise himself he's doing it. to him he is being normal. love <3

Invent us as we were (real tears, hard love) by diamondcrystalink

“Seb, aren't you freaked out?” Every human who doesn’t work with mimic engineering hates seeing mimics down to their components, it's said to ruin the illusion. Sebastian didn't even hesitate to help him. “Why would I be? It's just you,” Sebastian replied without much thought, his concentration on shaping the lattice to the gash. - Charles is an android who should have had his memory wiped at the start of the season per regulation, Ferrari decided otherwise. Sebastian doesn't know.

sebastian/charles, android-au-i-love-you! illegal ferrari goings on i love you!!! i am forever and always a sci fi lover and this hits all the spots for me, the idea of charles as the golden boy of ferrari because he was literally made crafted and perfected by them, the ethics/philosophies of being an android (charles hating remembering that he is), the way it starts and ends with a dream as well, bookended perfectly. so so good

the alps by @grandprix-ao3

Yuki catches his first glance of Pierre somewhere without him in pre-season testing. He’s blue and pink, he’s glowing, a flat-brimmed cap with Alpine’s A emblazoned on it sitting backwards on his head. Pierre and his sunglasses, the microphones in his face, the questions, the novelty, the half-arrogant grins. “He looks different in pink,” Liam remarks, halfway to a joke. Yuki hates it. It reminds him of all the distance between them, all the words he’s too scared—too late to say. There’s a gap between them, now. It's mountainous. It’s brutal.

yuki/pierre, this is one of my favourite all time yukierre fics so i couldn't not include it. every single thing about it is perfect, yuki struggling with his feelings, the way he and pierre are drawn to each other again and again. the struggle with what people seem to see so easily and making that real. ALL TIME!

cleaner better breed by @toastandvegemite

The lights inside the glass box turned on and Daniel saw the android for the first time. Something hooked in his chest. “Did they have to make it look so real?” he murmured to Michael, turning his head slightly. (RedBull builds a robot driver. They call it Max.)

max/daniel this had me on the edge of my seat the whole time, the idea already of technology displacing high risk/reward activities like sport is so fascinating combined with the fact that sports is such a political tool in terms of soft power, almost unmatched, so how to wield that soft power effectively with a robot? make him a bit human and likeable. all of daniels internal monologues feel so true to form throughout this fic, and the ending. AGH! catch! love this au

Everything I do, I'm gonna think of you by @misonikomi

Charles's eyes scan up and down his body, expression somewhat unimpressed. Seb takes inventory of himself. Nondescript jeans, gray Puma sneakers, plain gray t-shirt. Not much to look at, he admits. Or: Charles is Bella Hadid, if Bella Hadid used to kart and was also a bit disillusioned with modeling, and Seb is still Seb.

sebastian/charles, SUCH A GOOD AU!!! i love fashion and i love f1... this is like a perfect in between. a really really good charles character study again i love taking the drivers out of their... natural habitats! and this as well, it doesn't shy away from how charles in this universe has lead to quitting karting, homophobia, gender etc. and sebastian is so unabashedly seb and them learning how to be together and charles gradually showing more of himself... the modelling world in this as well is so rich. its so good!!!

home (is wherever I'm with you) by actparci

On the drive back to the hotel Max had turned to him, blue eyes fierce and piercing. “Promise me you won’t stop being angry. You’re angry because you know what you can do. Use it, control it, let it fuel you. Other people won’t understand but that doesn’t matter, you know what you’re capable of.” You and me, he’d seemed to say, we’re the same. Charles wonders now how he ever thought Max wouldn’t understand. Or: Charles leaves Ferrari, tries to win a championship, and learns some things about belonging. All the while, Max is there

max/charles, i do not read much lestappen at all but this was amazing. charles moving to red bull and its done so well, because. i am a forza-ferrari-forza-charles guy forever but i am also addicted to alternate universes! all of the moments where there are differences between the teams, having the cheesy but so emotionally cathartic races and interactions and wins... its too good!

For the thrill of it all by @boxboxlewis

Charles unfolds from his headstand with cervine grace and stands up. “Geooooorge,” he says slowly. “George, George… George.” His eyebrows fly up, and he narrows his eyes at Alex. “Your friend who needs a place to stay for a few days, he is George? The George from your classes? That one? Posh George?”

george/alex, this is a series so technically cheating... essential george characterisations here! they are both so british (deeply derogatory) all of the dialogue is so perfect!!! i love their dynamic as flatmates, charles i love you but if i were flatting with him id kill him xx [If this were real, if they were dating, he wouldn’t fuck George, not tonight; he would draw it out, the anticipation, he would allow them the luxury of a long slow discovery. As it is he pulls back] my favourite line because alex is in every universe deluded. that boy loves you!

transmotion by heroics

Vettel's eyes fly to Lewis's, and he looks as shocked as Lewis feels. Then he grins. "You again." "Me again," Lewis says. He's lived in Frankfurt nearly four years now, and the German feels clumsy on his tongue in a way it hasn't since those first few months.

sebastian/lewis, literally what can i say. football, fashion designer au. the sebastian in this fic is so well fleshed out, and i love how its the.. uncertainty of being between stages in life, and how they struggle as adults with their relationship. lewis having moments of unintentional cruelty that they have to pull apart, and sebastian the same, the perils of homophobia in sport. charles and pierre in this i love, when pierre and lewis talk about his fashion show. pierre is a lh fanboy in every universe!

okay. that's it! they are literally in no order and also so muddled i am so sorry. if you are on this list i am such a big fan of you and just want to show my appreciation xx

#fic rec #f1 #chalex #sewis #maxiel #galex #yukierre #sebchal #brocedes #piarles #f1 rpf #cl16 #sv5 #aa23 #mv33 #dr3 #gr63 #yt22 #pg10 #lh44

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bp-zb1fics · 11 months

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hello !! could u write something with jeonghyeon and reader in school like they are already dating, and it would be about them being the "famous" couple in their school !! lijeong being a genius and the reader being dumb like an airhead but she really kind and all. teachers and students could be teasing them about being an odd couple haha

So without meaning

pairing: leejeong x reader

genre: highschool au (same verse as shy,shy,shy and tall& handsome), fluff

tw/tags: sort of character study, class couple, mean girls reference, flirting, kisses, woongki being salty, leejeong simp agenda as usual

wc: 756

summary: it’s not that you were an odd couple, more like you were smart in different ways.

a/n Kind of put a spin on the req but I hope you like it anon~ it's also super late so there's that but these weeks have been rough tbh. also anyone who doesn't get the mean girls reference, jail for you jk

check my pinned for more fics!

When Gyuvin first transferred, Gunwook and Junhyeon made it their mission to introduce him to everything that there was to know about their highschool, sort of like those 90’s teen movies. So far, they’ve done a decent job.

Gyuvin now knows they served donkatsu at the cafeteria every second Tuesday, how to not piss off Baek Kooyoung-seongsaengnim and every notable class couple that he shouldn’t get in the middle of.

Case in point, you.

It wasn’t that you were stupid. No, definitely not. Maybe you made stupid decisions sometimes but doesn’t everyone? Sure, you weren’t the brightest bulb in the box (is that the correct analogy?) but you made do. You got decent grades, teachers liked you even if you had a tendency to daydream during class. And it helped that you were really nice in the very unintentionally genuinely good way that very few people were these days.

It’s just- your boyfriend was-

“That’s Lee Jeonghyeon.” Junhyeon whispers to Gyuvin as they watch the older boy walk down the hallway towards you. “Genius, sort of a lone wolf, all sorts of rumours floating around him.”

“What kind of rumours?”

[insert unnecessary montage]

“Lee Jeonhyeon is flawless.”

“He has an endless supply of bracelets and only owns green sweaters.”

“I hear his jawline is insured for 10 million won.”

“I hear he does underground rapping.”

“His favourite colour is green.”

“One time, he got recruited by this company and they told him he could be an idol.”

“One time, he punched me for trying to kiss him.” A pause. Cha Woongki takes the time to flip his hair before sighing wistfully. “It was so hot.”

[end montage]

Gyuvin’s eyes have grown twice their original size in disbelief. Junhyeon nods solemnly. Meanwhile, you and your boyfriend are none the wiser. In fact, he’s completely preoccupied by you grabbing his hand, chattering about something brightly as you tug him towards the cafeteria.

Most of the students give you a wide berth. But that’s probably because your boyfriend is at least 185 cm and looks like he can cut a bitch on a good day. It was also sort of interesting, the contrast between you, like a manhwa plot coming to life. The resident genius and the bubbly airhead, complete opposites and completely enamoured by each other.

“Jeonghyeoniee,”

The withering look that your boyfriend gives Park Hanbin would probably deter anyone else. But Park Hanbin is a dazzling force of nature with a brilliant smile and military commander-like focus when he gets invested in something. Trailing behind him is Kim Taerae, resident class-crush with his church-oppa like charms and soft, sweet voice.

“What do you want?”

Maybe Jeonghyeon would look more intimidating if he currently wasn’t letting you feed him like a petulantly adorable child, practically glued to your side, holding your other hand under the table. You ignore the other boys, bringing another spoonful of rice and meat to his lips.

“Thank you aegiya.”

“You’re welcome, Leejeong-yah.”

“God, I hate love.” Woongki fake gags from the other side of the table.

“Wow, way to be single and bitter.” Hanbin shoots back, the other gasping dramatically.

“I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“No fighting!” You insist after swallowing the bite your boyfriend fed you. Woongki coos at you.

“Oh my poor, innocent baby, how did our big, bad Jeonghyeonie manage to score someone as sweet as you?”

“Woongki-ah, I punched you once, I can do it again.” Jeonghyeon grits out before obediently opening his mouth so you can feed him.

“Oh please do,” The other boy says way too eagerly. You sigh. And they said you were the dumb one when you could clearly see your boyfriend being played. Also your food was finished and you kinda wanted one of those pudding cups that they brought out after you had sat down with your trays.

“Leejeong-yah?”

“Yes aegiya?”

“Want pudding.” You pout, You really don’t need to. Your boyfriend stands up right away and goes over to the counter to fetch one for you. Woongki rolls his eyes, applauding you slowly.

“Ugh, your power. Literally you need to tell me how to get a boy completely whipped like that.”

You shrug. Jeonghyeon comes back with your much-desired pudding cup, proffering you a spoonful.

“Leejeong-yah, kiss?”

The rest of the table groans as he leans down and gives you a peck shamelessly. You smile and eat your pudding, stealing more kisses in between spoonfuls. Jeonghyeon might be a genius but he wasn’t the only smart one in the relationship.

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corporatefrog · 1 year

Text

꒦‧₊ ꒷ HEADCANNONS: tricking team craig into thinking you're a magician ✧.*

✧.* tags: college au, ✧.* Characters: jimmy valmer, tweek tweek, craig tucker, tolkien black, clyde donavan a/n: i wrote tweek's then had the panicked though "i haven't written tweek for any of my other team craig posts" even though that's literally not true and i forgot that i didn't forget him? idk i put myself through the ringer for no reason lmao

masterlist

Jimmy

Finally! The other half of his magic comedy routine!

Instantly wants you to go on stage with him

You guys do the circuit to different bars and coffee shops in south park

Honestly he doesn’t care if it’s fake or real

All he knows is it’s PERFECT for marketing

“You don’t want to know how I did it?”

“All i need to know is if you can do it again at 6 pm tonight at tweek bros coffee for a crowd.”

Give him a lil top hat and sparkley vest and he’s THRIVING

He’ll purposely mess up tricks to make people laugh and then you amaze them with an awesome trick

The poster for the show is him in one of those boxes where your legs get cut off with you holding a saw

Tweek

Terrified of any and all magic

You’d do a simple trick and he’d be spiraling all day

“Is this your card”

“AHHHHHHHHHH HOWD YOU DO THAT WHERE DID IT COME FROM”

Probably avoids you for the next week

You walk down the hall, he’s diving into the closet room to avoid seeing you

Skips study sessions for the next week because they’re at your apartment

You need to show him how the trick works before he begins to calm down

Even then, he gets suspicious if you find something a little too quickly or catch a falling pencil a little too well

Craig

Doesn’t care.

Well, he PRETENDS he doesn’t care

Until you find a way to put a quarter in his hat without being anywhere NEAR him

Suddenly you are a threat

“How did you do that.”

“A magician never reveals their secret”

“No but deadass how did you do that.”

“I would tell you, but seeing you annoyed that you can’t figure it out is so much more entertaining.”

Que him doing intense researching into magic tricks to figure out how the fuck you pulled that off

Constant side eye whenever you’re in the same room because he’ll be damned if he lets you get another trick past him

Won’t admit it but lowkey thinks you’re actually magic

Trick successful >:)

Tolkien

I feel like he would think it’s cool

Not in a genuine belief way, but just as someone who enjoys magic

Another magic phase person. He was the opener for kyle and stan’s magic extravaganzas

Probably specialized in card magic and can do some pretty sick tricks

Doesn’t think you’re genuinely “magic” or anything

But he wants to know more about how you do your tricks

Asks you to teach him them too!

“Yeah when I showed Kyle and Stan they freaked out so much they didn’t sleep for a week because they couldn’t figure it out.”

“Teach me.”

“What?”

“You ruined stan and kyle’s week just with a magic trick. Please teach me.”

Definitely keeps the magic trick in his back pocket until stan’s gang annoys him so he can send stan and kyle spiraling

clyde

Tried to learn magic when everyone else had their magic phase but could never figure out how to do the tricks properly

So now he just gets pissed whenever someone else is good at magic

Doesn’t want to see it at first

But then you do a trick that’s a little too good

And now he’s invested

Wants to see more

Genuinely thinks you’re a wizard like harry potter style

“Can you dye my hair black?”

“That’s really not what I specialize in”

“Ohhh haven’t learned that spell yet. I got you.”

“...yeah definitely.”

#south park #south park x reader #corporatefrog #south park headcanons #craig tucker #tweek #jimmy valmer #tolkien black #clyde donovan

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hairstevington · 1 year

Text

flowers and ink (part 4)

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Summary: Eddie and Steve are officially gonna go out. But where?? Thankfully, their friends are invested and ready to help.

(part 1, part 2, part 3, link to Ao3)

Word Count: 2K (bit of a short update, but next one will be longer!)

Warnings: Tattoo artist/Florist pairing, modern day au, Eddie is a SIMP, oh hi Gareth!, codependent Stobin, hot messery, just a bunch of cute shit throughout tbh

A/N: I'm back! Shout out to @gregre369 for 1) being a top fan and 2) suggesting this date idea. You are an MVP, dear reader <3

“Okay,” Eddie said with a firm nod. “So, now we just have to decide where to go, right?”

They heard a heavy sigh from the phone on the table, followed by the noise that iPhones make when a call is disconnected.

“Damn,” Steve chuckled as he put his phone back in his pocket. “I was hoping we could use her as a lifeline or something.”

“That’s probably why she hung up,” Eddie retorted. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone sigh that loudly before in such a genuine way. Like, she’s really done with us.”

“Yeah, I hear her sigh like that about once a week,” Steve responded. “You get used to it.”

Eddie hoped that he’d be around these two long enough to get used to it, but maybe he was ahead of himself. They still had to plan a date.

“Probably my fault,” Eddie said, shrugging. “For assuming you two were together.”

“Oh, that?” Steve asked, unfazed. “No, that happens all the time. It’s my fault for constantly forgetting that we look like a couple.”

“You really do,” Eddie replied with a smirk. “But it’s all cleared up now, right?”

“Right,” Steve agreed. He brought his hand back up to run through his hair. “And now we’re alone, so we just have to -”

“Hey, wait!” Eddie interrupted. He ran to the counter and grabbed Steve’s wrist, then pulled it down and turned it so the palm was facing up. There were splatters of ink smudged all over his hand. “Don’t want you to get this in your hair.”

“Oh, shit,” Steve said once he saw it. “Must have been from my little project this morning.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie asked, coyly. “What were you working on?” Steve took his free hand and reached over the counter to grab the rose from Eddie, but Eddie pulled his hand away. “No way, you’re not getting this thing back.”

“You like it that much, huh?” Steve teased. He leaned back to standing again, then flipped his hair with a quick jerk of his neck, revealing more ink behind his ear.

“Dude, you -” Eddie almost laughed, but wasn’t sure if they’d reached that point in their relationship yet. “You got some more right here.”

Eddie took his index finger and traced it where the spots were, then presented the blackened pad of his finger in front of Steve’s face.

“Aw, shit,” Steve groaned, half annoyed and half amused. “Now you’re inked, too.”

“I think I’ll survive,” Eddie responded. He rolled his sleeves up to reveal his arms almost entirely covered in tattoos. “Not the first time, won’t be the last.” Steve followed the designs up Eddie’s skin, entranced, then nodded.

“Okay,” Steve said, holding his hand up and away from everything around him to avoid spreading the black ink any more than he already had. “I’m gonna go to the sink in the back and take care of this, but I’ll text you in a bit and we can set something up, okay?”

“Sounds good,” Eddie agreed. He had to get going anyway, because he had an appointment coming up. Although, he was pretty sure it was some kind of prank call because the name was clearly fake. Dick Johnson. Yeah, okay.

He walked back to Ink About It, still clutching the rose, but doing so delicately so as not to ruin it and/or get more ink on himself.

Eddie was bluffing before. Sure, he was used to being around ink and getting tattooed, but he always wore gloves. It was a hassle to get the stuff off his skin generally, he just couldn’t help but tease Steve about it. Now, he looked like he just came from the police station and ran away before they could finish fingerprinting him.

He could make that comparison because he may or may not have had experience being fingerprinted.

He opened the door and saw Dick Johnson in the flesh - waiting eagerly with a grin.

“Munson!” he said, jumping up.

“Gareth!” Eddie greeted back, surprised. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” Gareth replied, walking over to Eddie to give him the kind of half-assed bro-hug that guys do. Eddie instinctively hid the rose behind his back as they embraced, then realized how stupid that was.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m trying to hide this,” Eddie said, holding the rose up.

“Yeah, why were you?” Gareth teased.

“I dunno. It’s new.”

“Oh shiiiiiiit,” Gareth said, smiling. “Is Heart-Eyes Munson back?”

That was a joke from high school. Heart-Eyes Munson. Eddie didn’t tend to fall for people, but when he did, he fell hard.

“He works at the flower shop across the street,” he explained.

“Well, that’s fucking cute,” Gareth noted.

“Tell me about it,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes. He couldn’t believe how much he liked Steve already. “Well, Dick Johnson, I’m going to put this with the others and then we can get started.”

“Others?” Gareth asked, extremely amused. “This man has sent you others?”

“Shut up,” Eddie replied, biting his lip to keep from smirking.

Steve underestimated how hard it was to get ink off of his skin. Seriously, he scrubbed his hand and neck raw and he could still see the dark splotches.

Still worth it though, because he’d turned Eddie into a flower guy. Not only that, but their crushes on each other were officially out in the open, and a date was in their near future.

Steve loved the dating part. Once he knew someone was interested, the rest was easy. He just had to figure out where he’d take Eddie first. He usually went for coffee, but he felt like they were past coffee. Maybe a drink at his favorite bar. Or, they could go to the park. Was that too gay?

Maybe. But also, they were gay. So it was on brand.

Steve dried off his hands and neck (which were now bright red and therefore no less ridiculous-looking) and headed back out to the front counter to resume working on the pruning he’d been doing before Eddie came in.

There was ink on the shears. God dammit. Back to the sink.

This time, he brought his phone and dialed Robin so he could talk to her, because this job was a whole lot better with her around, even just on the phone.

“You’re both idiots,” she answered.

“We know,” Steve replied. “It gets worse.”

“How? What did you do this time?”

“I got ink everywhere,” Steve admitted.

“Jesus Christ,” Robin groaned. “Do I have to come in on my day off and fix it?”

“No, I can fix it. But you should come in on your day off to keep me company.” Robin chuckled in response.

“You know what the worst part is?” she asked. “I already picked up my keys.”

“So, what are you in town for?” Eddie asked as he set up for Gareth’s tattoo.

“We’re playing at this bar downtown tonight. I was actually gonna ask if you were free to come see us?”

“Hell yeah!” Eddie replied with enthusiasm. “Even if I wasn’t free, I’d make time. I’m glad to hear you guys are still playing.”

“Yeah, we stumbled a bit after losing our star guitarist,” Gareth teased pointedly, “- but we got back on our feet eventually.”

“Sorry about that,” Eddie muttered. He’d left the band after graduation so he could skip town and get a fresh start. Abandoning Gareth and the others was the only thing that gave him any hesitation. He missed it, obviously, but he liked his new life. It was stable.

“Water under the bridge, my guy,” Gareth responded casually. Eddie knew there were no hard feelings, but he did regret losing touch with his old buddies from high school. “Anyway, you should bring Flower Boy tonight.”

“His name is Steve.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna call him Flower Boy,” Gareth smirked. Eddie put the needle to the skin, and felt Gareth twitch just a little. “I’d love to meet the man who turned my dear old friend into a total sap.”

“I’m not a sap, okay?” Eddie insisted. His focus remained on the sword he was outlining on Gareth’s forearm. “Fuck you, I’m tough as shit.” Gareth chuckled.

“Right, my bad. Anyway, are you gonna bring him?”

“I dunno, I’d have to see if he’s free,” Eddie said with a shrug. “We also haven’t technically gone out yet.”

“Dude, seriously?” Gareth asked playfully. “Shit, now I really want to meet this guy.”

“Yeah, seriously,” Eddie chuckled. He knew how ridiculous this whole thing was. “I think he’s gonna plan something and then text me, I dunno.”

“Or,” Gareth suggested. “You could beat him to the punch and invite him to a kickass show at a bar.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, actually. They could drink, listen to music, and if the whole thing turned out to be a bad match then Eddie still got to see his old friends.

“Okay, fine. I’ll text him as soon as I’m done with this,” Eddie said.

“Cool,” Gareth replied. “Hey, you really wanna impress this guy?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm,” he said with a mischievous smile. “Then I think I have an idea.”

“Ummmmm you coulddddd….” Robin said as she sat on the counter. “Take him to that one-woman show that’s playing downtown.”

They’d been shooting date ideas back and forth for like an hour. They ran out of normal ideas after ten minutes, and since then it had gotten unhinged.

“God Robin, if you want to know about that show so bad just go to it yourself,” Steve replied.

“No, because what if I hate it?” she asked. “Who puts all that work into a show and then refuses to advertise what it’s about?”

“I think she’s banking on people going just to find out,” Steve answered.

“Well, yeah,” Robin agreed. “But I’m not about to spend money to watch something cringy or boring or - god - what could one person have to talk about for that long?”

“You once talked to me for three hours about why the movie Pitch Perfect should have been gayer,” Steve reminded her.

“Yeah, because Beca and Chloe were obviously in love,” Robin responded plainly. “And, for the record, two of those hours we were watching the movie.”

“Fair enough,” Steve replied with a smile. He remembered that night fondly, actually. He’d seen the movie before so it’s not like he was missing anything. Plus, wine was involved.

“So, it’s a no on the one-woman show?” Robin teased.

“No chance in hell,” Steve confirmed. His phone buzzed in his pocket, so he took it out and was happy to see a text from Eddie. He read it, intrigued. “Or, we could go see a band play at a bar downtown.”

“Did he text you just now?” Robin asked, jumping off the counter. “Oh my god!”

“Calm down or I’ll start freaking out, too!” Steve said as he opened the message and started responding. He and Robin had this thing where their emotions tended to mirror each other. When one got excited about something, so did the other. Some might call it codependency, but they’d had no issue with it so far.

“Okay, so getting a drink with the guy sounds decent enough. Casual, fun, low-stress,” Robin reasoned. “You gonna go for it?”

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s tonight,” Steve said, typing a response.

“Aw, well I’ll miss our movie night, but it’s not like we won’t see each other,” she joked. “Besides, this is important.”

“I already asked if you could come and he said yes,” Steve explained.

“Oh, thank GOD,” Robin cheered. “Because you know I gotta see this.” She peered over to look at the text exchange between Steve and Eddie and then burst out laughing.

“What?” Steve asked. She waited until her laughter died down to respond.

“He asks you out, and the first thing you do is make sure you can bring my gay ass,” she explained. “You are such a doofus, but god I love you so much.”

He finished out his shift and then they went home to get ready together for Steve’s first date with Eddie.

Maybe in most situations it would have been weird, but at this point Eddie was well aware that he was getting into a package deal.

Here goes nothing.

(part 5)

-----------------------------------

Check out my Masterlist!

@paintballkid711 @abraca-fxckyou @allbimyself26 @jellybabiesforall @allbymyselfexceptformycactus @justaloadofgarbage-blog @alliemunsonsstuff @undreamingscatworld @thefruityfours @hobbitnarwhal @calivanus @wreckmyplans-thatsmyman @antheia @goodolefashionedloverboi @lillemilly @missmagillicuddy @steviesbicrisis @gamerdano @menamesniall @eyeslikewildflowers111 @callmesirkay @stringischeese @eds-trashmouth @mnl-enuh @redfreckledwolf @itsanarrum @soulsofstarsliveinyourveins @stevesbipanic @momotonescreaming @aryakanojiaa @wrenisflying @comicmadlover @lilacrobin @itch-my-b0nez @anonymousbandgirl @disastardly @dangdirtydemons @daisyellsong @val-from-lawrence @starryeyedpoet17 @taikawaiteatea @clumsiluni @hollysimone @swimmingbirdrunningrock @witchofhawkins @steddiegarbage @suddenlyinlove @ricekristytreaty @eddielives1986 @bunnyweasley23 @thefailcollection @ppunkpuppyy @bestwifehaver @httpsphynx

#flowers and ink #steddie #steddie fic #writing #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic stobin #st fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #modern day au #eddie munson x steve harrington

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sweettjrose · 3 months

Note

I really really like your writing and style of narrative (I am still reading your detective Mickey one, I am interested!), I have always wanted to write my stories and OC stuff like that , but it never turns out good.

Anyway, my question is if you any inspirations or reference when it comes to writing, and if so, what are them?

Thank you so much!!! 💕💕💕

It warms my heart so much to see so many people like my story and get invested. I always wanted to get into fanfic writing, but could never imagine seeing so many positive reactions. I worked really hard and I can't wait to share more of what I have planned for this series.

As for your question, it is a simple question, but I actually have a complicated answer lol. Because even though I am writing fanfiction, I feel like a lot of my inspiration comes from things outside of just writing such as tv shows, games, comics, movies, etc. There are so many stories that had such an impact on me like Undertale, Deltarune, Mob Psycho 100, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Gravity Falls, Pokémon Black/White, Steven Universe, Gurren Lagann, Kung Fu Panda, Bojack Horseman, The Great Mouse Detective, Beauty and the Beast (Tbh Disney movies in general), and so much more. I've always wanted to write something just as emotionally impactful and compelling as they were to me. I feel like I daydream of cool moments as well as fun story ideas but never really put them on paper. But one day, while hyper-fixated on Mickey Mouse, I couldn't take only thinking anymore and I decided to just start writing them down and that is how I got my start.

What has also helped is following other creators that have been making their own wonderful stories also based on characters in the whole "Mickey and Friends"-verse. I've been following "Everything is Blue", an incredible story that tackles the relationships that Bud Flud had before he became the Liquidator by @trishabeakens . I also love the amazing duckverse comics by @modmad that do such a brilliant job giving Magica De Spell and Gladstone Gander so much depth with beautiful illustrations. Also, my friend @skullsemi makes many terrific comics about her "The Backup Detectives" AU that explores Mickey, Donald, Goofy, Oswald, Clarabelle, and everyone in such a fun role, and even other people started to add their own take to their AU. That isn't even everyone. Just seeing so many people share their own fantastic work and take on these characters or any other characters are really big inspiration when it comes to getting the push to make my own stuff.

However, I can't talk about inspiration and references and not bring up all of the "Mickey and Friends" media that is the root of my story. The animated shorts, "The Three Musketeers", "The Three Caballeros", "The Goofy Movie", Ducktales 2017, "The Prince and the Pauper", "The Christmas Carol", the comics (Gottfredson, Barks, Rosa, Nucci, Topolino, etc.), Darkwing Duck, and just so much more have all been key references when writing my fanfiction series. Some of the inspiration is obvious such as "Mickey Mouse Outwits the Phantom Blot" for the Pilot. But it is more than that. It is also the feel that all of these stories give. What I like about all of these stories is how well they can balance a fun cartoony comedic vibe, but also have strong emotional moments. In "The Goofy Movie" you can have a musical number where people dance on cars in the same movie where two adults have a serious conversation about trust and the best way to parent a child. That is what I am trying to catch in my story. And now that I think about it a lot of the previous stuff I mentioned in the paragraph above also have a pretty similar balance. I think there is something about being able to be goofy but also sincere that speaks to me. The idea of exploring the tough parts of life, but still holding onto hope and having fun along the way. It is genuine. I want to be genuine.

I know you mentioned earlier about how you don't think you're writing is good. I haven't seen it (mostly because I don't know who you are lol), but I think you are being a bit hard on yourself. The fact that you are writing is better than doing nothing and I would say just write what you want to. Write what you enjoy and find fun. Write what gets you to actually write. Because if I could be honest, I am really writing mostly for me. This is something I've been wanting to do forever and I am having so much fun.

#detective mickey pilot #detective mickey #questions #answered #sorry for writing an essay #i had a lot of thoughts and is bad at condensing

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svtskneecaps · 2 months

Text

listen in the grand scheme of things i'm glad i let myself get back into minecraft content for this. like i haven't touched a minecraft series since like 2014, on purpose, but i saw clips of qsmp in march 2023 and thought, screw it. maybe it's time. and i don't regret it yknow? i saw multilingual server and thought 'that looks AWESOME' and it certainly didn't disappoint. my only regret is that everything went crazy and people logged off RIGHT when everyone finally started relying on the live translations more, which was something i've been dreaming of for months lmfao. all in all, just happy to be here. this stuff gave me new reasons to use my blog.

hell if this is actually an end or even just a pause maybe i can FINALLY write my FUCKING TIME LOOP FIC JESUS FUCKING I'VE BEEN COOKING THAT STUPID FUCKING THING SINCE LIKE MAY LIKE I WAS ON THE FUCKING FIELD AT MY COLLEGE GRADUATION CEREMONY WAITING TO WALK THE STAGE AND GET MY DIPLOMA AND I WAS WRITING THE FIRST STUPID CHAPTER OF IT LIKE GENUINELY BUT I PUT IT ON HOLD BC THINGS KEPT HAPPENING AND I WAS LIKE I SHOULD UNDERSTAND THE BIG PICTURE SO I CAN ACTUALLY PLAY WITH IT PROPERLY BC THE MOST FUN I HAVE WITH TIME LOOP AUS COMES FROM KNOWING EVERYTHING AND MESSING WITH HOW SIMPLE ACTIONS CAN ALTER THE PROGRESSION OF EVENTS AND CHANGE CHARACTER CHOICES LOGICALLY BC THAT STUFF'S COOL BUT I DIDN'T KNOW LIKE THE MYSTERY OF THE FEDERATION OR WHATEVER AND I WANTED TO SEE WHERE THAT WAS GOING SO I COULD SEE WHETHER I WANTED TO TOSS IT OR ALTER IT OR KEEP IT AND SEE NOW I'LL KNOW YKNOW AND NOW I CAN JUSTIFY SHIT LIKE "OH HEY PURGATORY'S HAPPENING IN JUNE THIS TIME BC I WANT THE BREAKFAST TRIO TO EXIST FASTER AND FUCK YOU" WITHOUT IT FEELING TOO WEIRD AND ALSO STUFF LIKE CODE LORE AND ALL THIS OTHER NONSENSE LIKE DAMN WOULD BE PRETTY COOL I MEAN ONE SINGLE FUCKING INTERACTION BETWEEN SLIME AND MARIANA COULD SEND ME CAREENING DOWN A PATH PREVIOUSLY THOUGHT UNIMAGINABLE I COULD MAKE THIS FIC THAT'S BEEN SIMMERING SINCE LAST MAY A REALITY I COULD DO IT THIS COULD FIX ME. THIS COULD FIX ME

but yeah i'm glad i allowed myself to get invested in this server. i think y'all are cool, and i think the admins did amazing with everything they were given even though they shouldn't have been given it the way they were, and the ccs were cool and i'm glad everything happened yknow. maybe things will keep happening and maybe not but yknow what. i became All Powerful. i started watching as someone who knew english and some french and now i am someone who knows english (100%), slightly more french (like 70%), a workable understanding of spanish (like 40%) and a slightly less workable understanding of portuguese (like 20%) they added german to nerf me specifically. they knew i was getting too powerful. yeah, i spent some time as a kpoppie, i have a tiny miniscule understanding of korean (5%) german i have 0 experience with they added german to nerf me and then this happened to nerf me further. make no mistake they cannot stop me. i will become all powerful.

like cmon. if it ends here it was never all bad. i don't even have to use google translate to understand roier shittalking in the chat. i can just read it. i couldn't do that before :D and i can make my chilean friend keysmash bc she's not used to me knowing any spanish at all

we've grown strong over the year, haven't we? i hope we will continue to, no matter what :D

#qsmp #shut up vic #block game brainrot #yippee!!#i don't think this is a 'so long and thanks for all the fish' moment to be honest #but perhaps!#hmm i tried not to make this a goodbye post since idk the future #if any of our wonderful admins see this thank you very very much for your hard work!!#you truly made this server; its memories are all yours :D thank you for everything #long post #it was really nice to be part of an active tumblr community #i don't think i've ever been active in a fandom that was as passionate as this one #i learned a lot and i've had a lot of fun! even when it's a shitshow lmao #yea anyway lmao i should send this i think i should stop looking at it #this is long and rambly and silly sorry for the wall of text and especially the all caps part #maybe someday that fic will exist but i gotta be better Cultured yknow #accents are hard to write i must Study ✍️ perhaps i shall do MUCH vod crawling now that i'm not distracted by oodles of live content >:D #see! silver lining #IDK I NEED TO SEND THIS LOVE YOU GUYS SORRY THIS IS A MESS

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kibbits · 11 months

Note

I want to talk more fluff about your Break a Leg!Boys (I’m having a bad time medically and I need more positive energy before I send myself spiraling). Late night movies become an eventual habit, not only for the boys to take notes on improving their skills. There’s something magical about watching Sun and Moon experience things outside of Fazbear’s control. Of course, they can only live vicariously through the scenes, but there’s times when you can genuinely see something that wasn’t just fabricated through lines of code. Watching them plaster themselves to the screen, vibrating with pure excitement as daring battles of good and evil play out. The way Sun’s frame tenses as the hero struggles compared to Moon’s growing intrigue. Movies with less clear villains don’t entirely go over their heads though sometimes they need clarification. Some may love the questions and some may not. As they grow closer to Y/N, they may request to watch a more of their favorite films rather then the original course of kid movies. Which of course leads them to more adult musicals, you can’t tell me there wasn’t a week that Y/N didn’t regret letting Moon watch Phantom of the Opera.

Hi Anon!!! Oh man, I'm sorry you're going through it -- sending you all the good vibes and sending you soup (and hugs if you like them!) mentally! 🍲💖💖💖💖💖

(also ough your asks keep making me draw stuff so I hold onto them but also I'm juggling a lot of things rn so I don't end up having the time to draw aa --i'll just answer them now, and then come back to them if I have art to add from now on haha)

But yes!!! Yes absolutely!! Y/N is pretty much given carte blanche to rehabilitate the boys. They might play it safe with management/the boys' morals and go for kids' movies at first, but Y/N definitely starts to sneak in their favorites pretty soon! I think Sun would end up liking things like Princess Bride a lot! > : ) Yeees Phantom of the Opera for Moon!! I think both would be happy as long as the battle of good and evil is grandiose -- they do love dramatics, and when the action leaves you on the edge of your seat! gfjkld

Sun likes a good heroic monologue, and happily ever afters --though he's the one that ends up liking when things are more morally grey and make you think deeply long after the movie's over.

Moon is very happy that Villain Songs tend to slap so hard dfdjklg He's aware that villains don't usually win unless it's horror, and he doesn't mind that -- he just wants to have fun. So he likes flashy villains ehehe.

I think Sun would end up going for complex or powerful, well-told stories, and Moon would end up very interested in like. The visual aspect? (Megamind voice: Presentation!!) since he also takes care of the light rig and stuff like that, he'd incorporate strong color changes and be interested in things like how people's placement on stage, color, and lighting give the scene a different vibe.

Despite the gremlin tendencies he never moves away from, he's pretty meticulous and particular, and instead of Fazbear's 'more is more' approach to special effects and flashy additions, he'd learn to do subtle and unsettling changes well, as well as flashy but not too much. Now I'm picturing them using a system with cast shadows/'shadow puppets' to have an epic sword fight despite only being one body

The moment Y/N starts to see signs of how much they get into the movies -signs of the boys' actual, long-buried personalities - they get super invested. They make it their personal mission to show them as much as they can, and the duo/trio (since. Sun and Moon aren't separate. can you IMAGINE in this AU--) often end up more interested in the other one's reaction more than the movie (like say in your example where Sun is tense and practically glued to the screen, Y/N is probably staring at him way more than the movie, just as invested in his reaction as Sun is in the story.)

Y/N ends up looking so closely that they start to see more of their personality and preferences - probably even before the boys realize it about themselves (or, well, before they have the time to analyze and acknowledge it themselves) so they take notes and show them more movies they think will fit their tastes

On that note, Y/N totally ends up 1)Getting a library card to rent DVDs/An external drive to.... *find* movies/filmed performances pretty early on, and 2)having secret slumber parties with the boys ALL the time

I think Y/N should end up being handler and stage director, with a good helping of working on props and costume (or at least working with them on costume designs/helping with quick fixes) and they probably help the boys cobble together homemade fan merch/costumes when they ask ehehe or as a surprise! (They do and don't regret making them a very swishy cape during Moon's Phantom phase)

Thanks so much for the asks!!!! They make my day, every time!! I hope you feel better!!!

#ask #anon #Break a Leg!au

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abimee · 11 months

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(manifets at your door) hi bestie talking abt xiv music. what would u say are the bangers of all time - either by expansion or in the game as a whole

hold on i want to do best songs per expansion cause i got a lot to say about soken and co's discography of the game but i have to start out of order to let everyone know i think Wayward Daughter is a mediocre track and the actual best Stormblood track is Seven-Hundred and Seventy Seven Whiskers FOR GOOD REASON

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Seven Hundred and Seventy Seven Whiskers stands out amongst every song in Stormblood to me purely because of the Namazu themselves --- the Namazu 777 Festival is obviously based on the Obon, and the music that plays is meant to be music played during the Bon Odori/Bon Dance, and you can even hear the sound of the Namazu dancing to it in the song with the squeak of their feet :]

But what makes this so special is just the story of the Namazu, how their people lost their way and culture and how after one sees a vision of their people being destroyed unless they hold a festival and how everyone involved seems genuinely invested in reconstructiong their culture and being a ''people'' with rituals and beliefs again, rather than simply chasing coin like a lot do when you first meet the Namazu. And when they come to the Azim Steppe to make a spot for their cultural festival, they take the time to learn about the Au Ri cultures around them, and even though its often shown that the different Au Ri people consider the Namazu odd, them wanting to learn traditions from the different clans and incorporate them into their own festival is never framed as a greedy or ignorant ploy, but the Namazu genuinely wanting to learn and understand these traditions. The Namazu are even incredibly respectful to the Uyagiri people, where when they hear that they refuse to come to the festival due to their own religious beliefs about indulgence, the Namazu never berate them or say they should ''just leave their cave'' like other clans on the Steppe do --- instead, the quest is that you make a very simplistic offering, a doll iirc, to give to the Uyagiri as offering since they cant come. The Namazu genuinely try and even though theyre often played off as being stupid and for slapstick theyre never played off as like, ''oooh look at these fish disrespecting a culture because they wanna mimic it haha!"

And its really sweet with the fact that the Namazu story itself is about finding meaning and religion in what you do, and even if others see your beliefs and traditions and habits as ''uncessary'' or ''unworthwhile'', if it means something to YOU, if doing it makes you feel closer to your people or your religion, then it is worthwhile --- they see the festival as worthwhile, as crafting and gathering as worthwhile, and in reconnecting with their traditions they do avert a genuinely life-threatening future of mass exctintion, not because they actually appeased some sort of god threatening them, but because these traditions were grounded in a sense of preservation, that though they seem silly to others they were how the namazu lived and thrived!! and now to mention how the Namazu story touches on the concept of sort of recognizing that the God you worship isnt real with the fact that the Great One is sort of just implied to be not real, just Earthquakes in the ground, with not only it being based off a real legend but also the fact that the Namazu can't/dont summon a primal of it. And once again wrapping back around to the concept of religion always having been a means to self preserve, and whether a god truly exists or not is not what matters, but the community and safety and preservation that comes with religious worship and rules and etc etc. Anyway the Namazu are really good i think they steal the show for best track in stormblood ✌️

ANYWAY. A REALM REBORN. DREAM'S ALOFT genuinely one of the first MSQ songs to hit me in the gut. As a Kingdom Hearts fan and not an ff fan hearing this song did in fact make me feel like i was in Traverse Town again and meeting Cid highwind from my childhood. But also meeting Cid while this song plays and we're up in the airship really did feel like one of the first ''big moments'' in this game to me, so whenever I hear this song I think of my sprout days and how simply being up in the air felt like the most magical thing ever

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second to it HAS to be Edda's theme. No reason for ARR to randomly scare the shit out of me with a cool and emotional side story. I think FF14 does really good with brief moments of horror, cause Edda's plot really did chill me to the bone but it didn't overstay it's welcome or become ''too much'' --- which is where I think ff14 begins to fail in its ''scares'' sometimes. This game does best with like, Halloween campy spooky bullshit and nothing genuinely meant to be ''horrific'' and i think it needs to return to Edda-esque side quests more.

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and Through The Maelstrom for third place. If you dont think the buildup to Leviathan in ARR and the sound of the guitar kicking in after that first slapdown was the coolest, most ''oh shit this is REALLY dire'' then you can get the hell out of my house cause this was when the game hit that OH SHIT factor for me. Scariest and Coolest Primal to date fuck everyone else

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other notable mentions: Oblivion ofc, Limsa Lominsa's day music and Ul'dah's night music, and Camp Bronze Lake's music :]

my pick for Heavensward makes me sad cause finding out they took out Steps of Faith and therefore nobody gets to experience Faith in Her Fury to the most dreadul march of your life is so sad to me. I can't even tell you why Faith in Her Fury sticks in my mind to the point I recognized in EDW, I think it's just a really good introduction piece to Heavensward and made for a good backing track to a fun marching fight

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number 2 for Heavensward has to be Slumber Eternal. I've described this as ''music they'd play in a period movie where a fight breaks out between union busters and coal miners where people definitely die'' and i mean that in a complimentary way. This song really does make you feel like you're fighting up a literal fucking mountain and everything is trying to stop you and i think this was a cool as hell dungeon. I listen to this on repeat so often its not even funny

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also shoutout to Painted Foothils because they share the same tune. Leiftmotif and all that

Alexander. Rise. Everyone agrees. it has a fucking time stop mechanic built INTO THE SONG!!!

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other notable mentions; Baelsar's Wall music Another Brick is good dont let the haters tell you otherwise, Locus, Heroes Never die, and Relics

Stormblood :/ Omega has bangers in it at the very least i know mags already heard me say it but the music that plays before you fight M/F is literally the most ''final fantasy music'' music ive ever heard

WAIT back up. Soken's stolen beat is really good also. thank you soken for stealing this

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I have to put The Twinning here somewhere because this is literally the song that made me play this game. This is what made me download this game after months of going ''ill get a better computer and then download it''. When they refferenced a version of the meme at Fanfest i scrummed

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Amaurot.

theres a 10 video limit on posts but you know im not fucking finished so ill be back

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ruiniel · 1 year

Text

Circles

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Rating: M

Relationships: Haleth/Caranthir

Characters: Haleth, Caranthir

Additional Tags: The Silmarillion References, Elves, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Friendship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beleriand, Drama, Mild Sexual Content, Used LACE here because it suited me, but not the characters alas, POV First Person, Haleth POV, Sexual Tension, Heavy Angst, Happy ending-we don't know her

Count: 5.5k

Also on AO3

Summary: An older AU oneshot from a time when I was deeply invested in this ship.

Haleth has led her people well, dedicating her entire life to duty. Now an old woman, she reminisces of the past. A short AU where Caranthir the Dark and Haleth of the Haladin shared more than just words.

My time is near, I feel it. A manner of mercy, they say. For one to seek and severe their ties to this world; to counsel others in carrying on their legacy, such as it is, and to say their farewells.

The years have been long and hard, full of both darkness and hope for us. And where before I ran and rode and fought over never-ending plains and marched through wild forests, now I merely listen, lying in bed, my bleak vision straying beyond the window of my hut amidst the darkened boughs of the forest given to us by king Greymantle.

I have said my farewells, and now, I wait for the nether. I go forth with my head held high, knowing I’d done all I could for our people as we strove for a better home, a fuller life.

But life had never been simple.

As I sit here, unable to rise as before, my bones now crumbling and thin, my mind yet runs over green fields of memory. I dwell on forgotten seas of hope until at last, I come to the one farewell I have not said, and never will; it dwells within me, word for ragged word.

I stood alone for most of my life, devoted to handling woes and struggles. And even so, there were voices, either of dissent or wrought with genuine concern, wondering why I should not take a life companion. Why I should not bring forth heirs as customary among my people, and other peoples of this world.

Would that I could, I would say, and they would wonder and whisper, and surely think me strange, though none ever questioned my words outright.

But what could I tell them? That I thought I belonged with one whom I would never again meet, until the ends of the world, and likely not even then? That I yielded to one I left behind, and did so for them?

No, the choice was my own. The loss is mine and his alone, as is our scarred secret, and carefully I grasp at these recollections of him and I. With each passing day that I slip further away, they gain new color and life. My body will be dust, my mind a memory. My deeds may not be sung, nor honored along the Ages and I will be forgotten, as happens with all those fading on the pages of time.

But this... bond, still grips me, and though I desperately loathed its haggard pull in the past, it now may be the sole token left to me once I go unhoused beyond the Night.

Now, as times before, despite my savage rebuttal of it through the years, my thought ever strays to him.

I had little love for his manner when we first spoke.

They had cornered us like animals, and we were struggling to hold against the Enemy who fell upon us as cruel and swift as lightning. My father and brother and I, and all our people, fled our homesteads and retreated until we came to an angle of land between the rivers Gelion and Ascar. There we built hasty defenses and led all our own through, despite many knowing in their hearts this could well be their end. We lay besieged by the Orc, and the little food we’d saved dwindled rapidly.

For days we held our own, but they seemed to ever grow in numbers, and we were tiring.

I had barely reached adulthood at the time but never shunned the blade, for it was our way. And so I stood beside my father and drove them out and kept them at bay as best we could. And all they did was howl at us in their coarse tongue, and their beastly cries sewed horror in our hearts.

I recall the warmth of the heavy hand on my shoulder. “Pay them no heed, Haleth. We may not win the day. But we must hold,” my father said, and I listened, or tried to, gritting my teeth against the fear coiled deep within.

Those were the last words he ever spoke unto me and I watched as he fell, and then saw my brother, a dread look in his eyes and a steel grip holding me firm. “You stay, sister. Our people will have need of you. Remember our stand.”

After a hasty embrace, he went, and there died my family, hewed before the frightened eyes of our women and children.

On the seventh day, the foe at last broke our defenses, and their weapons clove through our people. We fought, we fought beyond hope, bewildered, and were late to hear the faraway wailing of trumpets, but soon our eyes beheld tall riders and a sea of spears like beacons in the dark.

Swiftly this unknown host rode them down, the creatures who ruined and dismembered my family, and threw them into the rivers.

I recall running straight to where the bodies of my father and brother lay, straining to breathe and draw them from the midst of the slain, to cover their battered limbs with my cloak.

Then there was movement and a cloud of dust, and lifting my gaze I saw a great black steed, bearing a rider clad in mail and crimson. His helm hid most of his face, and blinded by stray tears, I could not see his eyes.

He came to a halt, high on his mount, and an imperious voice with a stilted accent filled my ears.

“Where is your leader?”

As I entered the hastily raised tent, I recall gaping in wonder at the intricately woven materials, the sparse yet elegant furnishings that spoke of never-seen skill and wealth.

I had no notion of wealth. Our folk had traveled and toiled hard for a sparse and lacking life, and we knew little of the ways of other kindreds. Least of all we knew of these foreign Elves. And though I was enthralled, I also felt a sliver of envy claw at me. Who were these high lords atop their mighty mounts, so carelessly flaunting their worth and riches before us? How dare others not partake of our misery, but so easily dismiss it with their steel stares and aloof manner?

He was there, standing in his gleaming armor, his dark hair of a strange shine to my eyes, falling straight over shoulders cloaked in red. An eight-rayed star traced in gold thread adorned his tabard, over his heart. I knew it was him by the sight of his helm, placed nearby on a table.

My back stiffened when our stares clashed, and for a moment, my breath fell short; I recall the flicker as if it were yesterday.

His voice beckoned me out of my momentary lapse of reason. Its quality was grave and low, its call dark as a clear winter night. “Lady Haleth, I bid you welcome,” the Elf continued his mangling of our tongue.

“I am no lady,” I blurted, cursing my stunted words and hitched speech. But I stood as tall and straight as I could, or as seven days of battle and loss would allow.

A black fire brimmed in his eyes, but his face showed nothing. “Then what am I to call you?” asked the Elf, and I remember the surge of shame at my foolish compulsion to thwart him.

I berated myself. This Elven lord and his men had come, found us in dire need and dying by the numbers. Without falter, they had granted their invaluable aid. Gratitude was due, but nothing more.

Still, I worried that I may have offended him, and so was astonished when instead of ire, I saw the softening lines of his face and the slight quiver of his lips.

Was he mocking me?

My hands tightened involuntarily into fists. A mighty Elf-lord though he was, and ruler of these lands, but I came to him as required by honor. And though I was in worn furs and leathers and he in plate and rich silks woven by immortal hands, our people’s blood had spilled countless times defending these lands, his lands. Thus, I spoke for them, and he would show me the respect that was due. “You are to call me Chieftain.”

I still so vividly remember his shapely eyebrows shooting upward, and the bemusement on his face. “How old are you?” asked the sullen Elf, now coming around his table and leaning against it, a peculiar expression on his face.

Potent anger took me, and barely could I ease the nervous trembling of my limbs. He saw it either way. He also knew, that right then I felt the need to strike him (I am certain of it, for we spoke of this later).

“My age should be of no concern to you or anyone else, I should think,” I said carefully. “Chieftain is what I am, following the death of my father and brother in this sortie.”

The mirth dancing in those nightly coils died, and his face was stern as we faced each other, his youthful features cut in stone. “My condolences for your loss, Chieftain,” he stressed the last word, only to rile me in spite, I thought.

I nodded in acceptance and held his gaze. “Lord Carnistir, I speak for all of us when I say we are most grateful for your aid,” I braved, careful in drawing any sort of emotion out of my voice. “But we have nothing to offer you as recompense for this timely support,” I delved into the midst of the matter, assuming that was the direction this was headed.

He righted himself then, walking to where I stood straight as a rod, my hand grasping the handle of my father’s sword for dear life. Suddenly that damnable tent felt much, much smaller.

My heart drummed faster with every step until he was before me, taller than any being I had ever seen; and though I knew little of life beyond the strip of land our people called home, I was certain that, to me, he would also remain the fairest.

His eyes flitted briefly over me, and I wondered why he lingered. I wanted this to be done with. I thought nothing of how his cold eyes strayed to my unruly brown locks, down to my calfskin-wrapped boots, and up again, to my dirty tunic marred with blood and grime; his gaze at last locked on mine.

I jerked my chin up in defiance, unwilling to grant anyone the pleasure of thinking they may cower me. He would later tell me he was smitten, though failing to acknowledge such even to himself. I would tell him he was a fool. But then, we both were.

“I want no manner of restitution from your people, Haleth daughter of Haldad,” at last he spoke with a precarious smile. “If that is your worry, then you may freely relinquish the thought.”

“I may freely do much. For we are all free here, Lord, and will fight for it until our dying breath.”

To my wonderment, in an abrupt flurry leaving me both breathless and intrigued, his mood turned fey.

“Free, on my lands,” he spat.

This was preferable. An irate Elf-lord was much, much better than a derisive one. “Not for much longer,” I said, every bit the stubborn daughter my father had raised me to be.

“Make certain of it,” the Elf said through gritted teeth, his face poorly veiling his discontent, and I remember how it was my turn to smile.

He spun away from me and went to sit back at his richly crafted table, taking a scroll in hand.

I fought against the brimming humiliation of this gesture, but before I could leave without a word, insulted by this petty disregard for my pretense of equality, he looked at me again. “You are weary. Best we continue this on the morrow, I think. Farewell, for now, Chieftain.”

I inclined my head. Secretly thankful for his words despite the bizarre manner of our meeting, I turned on my heel and left him alone in his master-crafted tent.

That night, along with the cries of my father and brother, the dark light of his eyes followed me through the first rays of dawn.

I’ve always known my desires and never shied from making them known. Where there is youth there is fire and I was no different. My folk had well respected Haldad, my father. And they had seen enough of me during our desperate stand, which we thought would be our last, to readily support my hand in the matter of rule. I awaited challengers, and naysayers, but to my surprise there came none.

We knew there was no life for us in Thargelion besides. We had to be gone, and a future further West was our purpose. Farther from the darkness ruling the world, which these Elves ever battled since their arrival to these lands, or so I’d heard.

Following our fight against the creatures of the enemy, the Elven host stood by us for some time yet and aided to rebuild our homesteads. I had to admit the need was dire, with the many wounded we had in our midst.

Tall, beautiful, and cold in manner most of them were, but none shirked from any duties and they carried even the most menial of tasks with no protest.

It was a strange sight.

“Why are you doing this?” I remember asking the one whom I knew to address as prince Carnistir. For he was a prince of Elves I’d learned, by nature of his line. And it all made me seethe though I no less lamented the prickly nature of our first exchange.

“I do not understand,” the Elf offered, then standing beside me, his hands clasped behind his back.

At times, he seemed so young despite his years. “You continue to aid us. Why?”

There was a pause before he spoke. “Are your valor and unity against the Foe not reasons enough?” he answered with a question, at which point my initial dislike of him returned. “But before you feel slighted yet again,” he continued, “it is because you so clearly need it.”

Many things I detested about his words. We knew our worth; we needed no Elves to sustain it. But he also spoke true, as we sorely welcomed their aid in numbers.

His demeanor had changed the second time we spoke at length, and the following. The frosty disposition remained, but there was no more derision on his face or in his voice when he addressed me. The flame in his gaze, however, burned the same.

“We will remove to Estolad,” I spoke unto him, hoping there would be no qualms with my following words. “But we are not yet ready.” He’d been quite vehement that first time that we were to leave as swiftly as possible, and part of me loathed offering words of penance for our delay.

“You misconstrue me, Chieftain,” said the Elf after moments in silence. “Whatever I have said, I did not intend to at once force you away from lands none make use of today. Stay and prepare, and depart when you are ready.”

I felt his eyes on me as my gaze focused ahead.

“You have my continued support, should you seek it.”

Again I found it curious that he would offer such to mortals his kind clearly thought fleeting and wild, and reduced to surviving the day. There was a serene pride in the manner of the Eldar towards us, though it may have been more visible to our eyes than theirs.

I looked at him finally and lingered on the dark and treacherous grace of his features in the falling red sun. His straight, shining hair a shadow-river to drown in, and I recall wondering how it might feel through my fingers.

“Chieftain.”

I nearly flinched, meeting his gaze. “Aye, lord.”

“Will you and what you can spare of yours join us for a hunt? I see the need is dire, and after your heavy losses I know they would welcome the nourishment.”

I felt my face warming and cursed whatever had caused it, wishing not for the first time that my father were doing this instead of me. And then my mien must have darkened at the thought, for he spoke again.

“Of course, it is only a courtesy invitation. We can do well enough on our own.”

“No!” I added, too swiftly for my liking. “No, we will join you.”

So he nodded to me in his strange way, his palm to his chest, and left me watching a sun that had already set. I found it peculiar how his steps made no sound as he strode away.

Now, thinking back to my young and deluded self, I can clearly say that was the moment; when deep within, I knew what I wanted.

We hunted together once, twice, and soon times too many to count, both with and without a host.

As my people lingered and thoughts of leaving were delayed, all focus turned on regaining what we’d lost and rebuilding our livelihoods, and I found solace in this new and unlikely company. It suited me, and at the time I thought little of the months he would ride from his dwelling in Helevorn to see how we fared, bringing men and some form of aid or another more often than not.

And as the years passed, the quiet and morose Elf-lord I met after a grueling fight became someone I was glad to see riding before me and eager to speak to, of matters of both rule and strategy and all in between. Of course, to him, I would never show such interest outright.

Then sometimes we strayed from our company to be alone, where I could share things I dared not tell anyone since my brother perished. He would listen, only offering advice when requested, which I now think may have been a change to suit my then easily riled temper. And he would speak of himself, and his own brothers and family, of his kind. It astonished me at first, for I never thought him willing of entrusting me with such honest thoughts regarding kin.

It was during one such outing that it all changed.

We were pursuing the trace of a boar for a while, and I walked close behind him, for his senses were keener. He’d ceased his fluid stalking and listened intently.

“Carnistir,” I whispered, wanting detail on what he could discern ahead.

What he did was unexpected. He half-turned as he listened and placed a long, elegant finger to my lips, hedging me to silence.

The gesture marked the first time we touched, accompanied by the swift throb of my heart. And then as in a dream, he slowly turned to face me fully, and I knew not whether to brave this or flee.

I’d never felt the coward before.

His finger slowly glided away from my dry lower lip, but his eyes never left mine.

“We should not linger so, alone together, any longer. Tongues are loose and minds scattered.”

His words caused a near-physical pain I did not understand. How long had he waited to tell me this, I wondered. I then knew he’d been pondering on the different facets of it all, of this, perhaps more than I. And I felt even more young and foolish before him. “You wish for us not to meet any longer?” I had to know.

He stepped closer. “I wish, for you to be held in honor, and not a topic of gossip.”

“I am held in honor, or had you not noticed,” my pride said, and we regarded each other for a long time in silence.

My lips parted as I studied his face. His beautiful face, strong dark eyebrows framing eyes where an eternal fire burned.

“Is that all you wish for?” I asked, my voice too small to my own ears, regretting the words the moment I uttered them.

“Haleth.”

“Yes,” I breathed, unable to look away, expecting an Elvish rebuttal from the hissed way he uttered my name, already feeling cold shame at thinking such things as I did a moment before.

When he said nothing more and did not move, I knew, somehow I felt, that he was faced with the same inner strife as I.

By then I had not been with any men, nor shared even a kiss to know what it meant or how it felt. But that did not prevent my arm from reaching around his neck, my lips from brushing over his in a motion so swift even he appeared bewildered.

So we clashed, more strongly than blade against blade, and to my selfish delight, it took a mere flicker of time before he deepened what I’d begun. He drew me closer to him, tasting me wildly, and I was smiling like a fool into his kiss. And we went this way until my searching, fumbling fingers disarrayed his perfect silken tresses, and my body came completely lined against his as he held me with near-bruising strength.

Just as suddenly he ceased it all, at once astonished and confused, and I recall the misery and doubt brimming in his eyes. He took me by the shoulders, still panting from the sudden storm we both weathered. “This is... too young... you are... too young.”

So many differences between us. He had lived years many times my age, yet he failed to understand human reckoning. I was not too young to hold a sword and thrust it into the flesh of orcs, years before. I was not too young to watch my family die while I stood and fought to live, though I wished to join them. Too young to lead a scattered people, I was not.

I was not too young to love him.

“You foolish Elf,” were the sole words I had, and taking him by the collar of his tunic, I kissed him again—this time deeper and longer, and though he stiffened at first, to my great relief I soon felt him relent.

Then his arms were around my waist, and I had little chance to breathe for his mouth on mine. A scent of wild dark forests, the warmth of a roaring fire on the coldest of nights. From that hour I would know it anywhere, in any Age of the world.

“This is a war of your making, Chieftain,” he whispered with a crushed smile when we, at last, broke apart, his chin resting on the crown of my head, his hands burning on my back, bringing me closer.

Little did I know how much truth his words held at the time.

The cold seeps through my garments, though I lie covered in furs. The young maid tending to me releases my icy hand, kneeling to stir the fire cracking in the low-lit chamber. Watching the flames with weary eyes, I am reminded of their duality. An eternal force of nature, both purifying and destructive in its power. It will not be much longer now. I feel my body readying itself for rest at last. And though my spirit writhes, twisting against the void torn long ago, I am ready. I will receive the gift with all the grace I have left, and hold this fear I feel shackled to its worldly bonds. Beyond the Circles there is no place for it and my sole hope and wish, were I to be granted one, is that my father and brother await me there.

And then I wonder if they will. Will I even remember the being I’d been, bound in flesh? Will my memories follow me past the Doors of Night? Will I yet know of him?

Even in what I feel to be my last hours, I dwell on it all. And again I feel guilt, for I will be free, and he will linger through long Ages as fate deems fit. How I wish that I could speak the words, so he could hear them one last time.

As the pains lengthen, I focus inward; recalling the winds lashing at our faces as we assessed our enemy from hidden slopes; our swords slashing into fell flesh as we fought back to back, ever watchful of each other. I will never forget the beauty of him, so deadly in his dance amid the bloody battles we faced; or the warmth in his dark eyes as we stood lying in nothing but our skin and his hand would roam, pulling my hips to him. I still recall, as if it were yesterday, the most tender touch I ever felt on me, pursuing my sighs of contentment.

“Sing for me, narwe,” he would whisper against my lips, diving into me with unrestrained longing, and despite my resentment at being led in many things, this I would allow him. In passion, he sometimes ruled and I followed, with reckless abandon and ever despairing at the thought of our coming separation. I needed him like nothing else in those days, and with every moment we spent together I felt us melt deeper into one another.

Their ways differed much from those of Men in many things, but none more so than in matters of the heart.

I often see the vision of him on our first night together splayed onto the forest floor, the Elven prince and the unlikely leader of Men, hiding from the world; his eyes full of yearning as his hands steadied my own hungry ones eagerly picking at the fastenings of his fine garb. Telling me, with gentleness and soft words that would have made his captains grimace, of what it all meant to him; how to lie with him bound him to me, and neither of us would be free of it.

“Will you consent?” he asked, with a solemnity that I then felt was ill-matched to our light and tender pursuits, and my selfishness blinded me to its true meaning.

And taken as I was, by him and all that he brought into my life, I did.

Fool that I was.

“Where?”

“We move to Estolad, as originally deemed suitable,” I spoke in answer to his curt question. My eyes looked past the wide window where a full moon glided on quiet waters. As years passed there came the time at last to fulfill my promise, and my people were eager and ready to travel with renewed hope. We were finally prepared.

He stood with his back turned to me, his hand propped against the smoldering fireplace. We met in his Helevorn home a few times in all our sparse and fragmentary times together, gone to significant lengths to not arouse suspicion in the minds of others. “No, you are not,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and low.

“I am, and we must. It is time,” I retorted, my own voice brittle as ice.

“By whose notion?” he turned to face me then, and I was dismayed by the certainty that this would be just as difficult as I had imagined, during all those times I repeated the words in my solitude.

“Mine.” I held my head high, kept the waver in my voice at bay.

His eyes on me were molten. “You cannot.” And he drew nigh, close enough for me to feel the tremor of him before he went completely still, his gaze set beyond me.

Cautiously, I placed my arms around him and pursued a one-sided embrace. “You know of duty more than anyone. I, too, have one yet to fulfill to my people,” I spoke into him, even as I felt him tense.

He sharply drew back as if I’d struck him, and his eyes were terrible when met with mine. “Damn your people, and curse your Orcish stubbornness,” he seethed between his teeth, the pale skin of his neck flushing a reddish hue from the fire of his ire.

Then he must have seen my widened eyes and the nervous quiver of my limbs, for he quietened and lowered his head. Still, with his gaze set downward he stood until I finally found the strength to approach him again.

I wished yet again, as every time in his presence lately, that my chest were hollow.

“Duty,” he spat, as if the word caused the most grievous offense. “I offered you your choice of freedom, lands to dwell in, protection. I offer you myself. But you, in your crass compulsion to never be subdued, insist on this foolishness,” he spoke sadly. “Why, Haleth?”

He was not being unreasonable. This was all we could ever hope for. But I knew, that I loved him more than I did my own people, which both frightened and deeply shamed me. It felt like a betrayal of the silent promise I made to my father and the trust placed in me by my brother.

We must hold.

“Carnistir,” I hedged softly, using the name I knew he preferred. My hand lightly caressed his set jaw. “I cannot. It means abandoning what my family has perished fighting for.” This, I hoped, he of all beings would understand. Was he not bound by a similar oath, after all?

His sharp eyes remained averted from mine. “A life of nothing awaits your people in the wilds of the West.”

I forgave him that, for I knew how much I was hurting him.

“But time among your kind has taught me,” he continued tiredly, “that despite your fleeting days Men always choose unlikely tales of what may be over wisdom.” His words, though bitter, held a distinct quality then—that of fated foresight, which only the Eldar seemed to possess.

“I cannot stay,” I choked, and my walls crumbled before his pain. “I cannot be a wife to you,” I finally braved, as gently as his words allowed me to be.

“But you are my wife!” he spat, and his gaze broke my barely held composure. “Or have you forgotten?” He slowly stepped closer, and I had little choice but to falter and retreat, and he was ever-advancing until my heels struck the wooden side of his bed.

And though I knew this would change nothing, with a sigh of despair I reached for him, and he yielded as we fell against his dark sheets; fire, burning against my face, my chest, my hips.

He repeated his question, though any pretense of response was long abandoned and his lips soon spoke in different ways, his hands touching me in places he knew left me raw with need; and of course, he knew I would never forget.

He took me fast and harsh well into the night allowing no reprieve, his hand fisted in my hair, his mouth barely allowing mine a drawing breath. And I clung to him as if my life was forfeit, joining this blissful revenge until we were both slippery and breathless and worn with longing.

“Please…” he pleaded, his lips searing kisses into my skin, and I held him tighter. To this day, I feel him. That was the first and only time I ever heard one of the Eldar beg subdued by misery, and it was sobering to see that in pain, they were more like us than we knew.

“We are one,” he said muffled against my chest, his voice hitched with fear of loss. He shook my body against him. “Haleth, please…”

Come dawn, I left.

When the morrow of our departure came, his face betrayed nothing but the aloof manner of the Elf-lord all knew. But I saw, somehow beyond my power of comprehension, that the light in his distant eyes was dimmed as the crowd gathered. And he was stone when we said our customary farewells, thanking him on behalf of my people for all he had done, while he wished me safe travels and to reach our intended goal.

And then, too late, I understood his meaning on our last night together. We are one.

He saw the change in me, but I’d already made my choice. Even so, his gaze was stern, his face as blank as it had been on our first encounter, all those years past. In the crisp morning wind, I briefly turned to the waiting crowd.

Then looking back at him with glistening eyes, I inclined my head in swift farewell, striving to keep my heart from ruling, and left. I never saw him again.

Night after night, for many good years to come, I was pained by the hollow created of my own choosing and heard his whispers in my ear. And even now, as I lose myself in the dying embers of the fire, my body draining of life and shedding its earthly ties, I still do.

Haleth, please...

#silmarillion fanfiction #ruiniel:fanfiction #caranthir x haleth #halenthir #silmarillion

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